Merrily We Roll
by Greyella
Summary: The Black sisters explore/deny their greys & bloodgift as they come of age. The Dark Lord rises & sides are chosen. Minerva finds herself along the edge of an abyss as her protégé stumbles closer toward the darkness within. Cissatrix central. Bella/Min hints.
1. Author's Disclaimer

**DISCLAIMER**

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><p><strong>Rated:<br>**MA (for adult themes, sexual content, language)

**Warnings:  
><strong>Includes mature sexual content, same sex pairings, incest, rape, and expletives. This story is not for the faint-hearted or those underage. Not for children; minors read at their own legal peril. By clicking "Next," you acknowledge that you are at least 18 years of age (or have reached the age of majority in whichever country you reside).

**Timeline & Cannon Skews:  
><strong>1) Birthdays have been altered for sake of storytelling.  
>- Bellatrix: December 31st, 1948<br>- Andromeda: November, 1949  
>- Narcissa: January 1st, 1951<br>2) Subsequently, years of Hogwarts attendance have also been altered: Bella begins in 1963/64, Andromeda in 1964/65, and Narcissa in 1965/66.  
>3) Hogwarts is more so a secondary and college institution. Letters are sent to accepted students at age 13.<br>4) Age of majority in the wizarding world is 17. Age of consent in the UK is 16.

**Copyright:  
><strong>Harry Potter and Pottermore Publishing Rights © J.K. Rowling Harry Potter characters, names and related indicia are trademarks of and © Warners Bros. Ent. All Rights Reserved. This fan fiction is provided for entertainment purposes only.

**Legal Disclaimer:** This story is entirely fictitious and is not based upon any person, living or dead. The expressed viewpoints in this work do not reflect the author's factual morality. The author does not condone any illegal activities or debase action of her characters.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<br>**This is but a humble attempt to explore the darker side of the Harry Potter realm. One that delves into Bellatrix Lestrange née Black's deranged darks and twists.


	2. May 2, 1970: Destruction

**Author's Disclaimer: **Chapter content includes intentional cutting and mentions of rape.

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><p>A dark corridor.<p>

The darkness within was unbearable. It tore angry holes as it multiplied and twisted daggers inside, eating pieces of her core for a meal. An outlet needed to present itself soon, or an unsuspecting and ill equipped student would die. A simple but grave fact; but one Bellatrix no longer denied. Let the dim brood and breed inside. No. Rather an act of violence to satiate the roaring stomach. She would not let it dwell in her temple and consume. A memory of Papa's crazed eyes beat at her brain. Unlike him, she would control…she _would_ control it. Excruciating months of repressing, that full darkness begat in blood. Silver scarred pale thighs. Wrists. A stomach. No one saw through her billowing dresses and long sleeves…or permanent Glamour.

_'…to what end…the Dark Lord approaches…arranged to Lestrange…'_ Her mind sang as incoherence set in. She needed a classroom.

Rejection had stolen any final reason that lingered. Now, nothing lasted; it was endless swim against the murky pull, treacherous blood. A birthright, they'd told her, passed down through blood purity. (Furiously, she envied her middle sister in that moment; the Black gift did not flow through her.) Soon they'd not be sisters at all. _Toujours Pur_. Blackblood made sisters. Oh how she hated students who flitted down the hallway, careless, unaware of struggles born outside Hogwarts. She despised them; they knew nothing of blood. Nothing of purity. And nothing of darkness. They fretted about Filch, after curfew and catching them out of bed. She dwelled. Upon her father, whether he would rape lessons into her (over another and not-so-hypothetical holiday). And dwelled upon the Dark Lord and his exact wants of her in a fortnight. Now of age (far past at twenty-one), she was eligible. And the dark gift within her blood swarmed like maggots.

Incidental magic bust open the door in front of which she paused. It wouldn't be long now, until the burst. Wandlessly, she was a witchy sight; inky curls flew dangerously, a magical whirlwind. An onslaught of spells attacked the Transfiguration classroom; her arms throwing spells about her, conducting an orchestra of destruction. Desks exploded in technicolored light, bathing a room in disarray and chaos. Textbooks shredded themselves, kindling aflame the chalkboard. Windows shattered outward in magical cacophony, accompanied by strangled screams of rage. Waves of power, no longer restrained, surged outward, but miraculously did not shatter their once human vessel. A final current passed through her body, the strongest yet. And the classroom foundation shook; floor tiles lifted upward and shot in all directions. Then, in magical exhaustion, limbs faltered and Bellatrix collapsed to the floor amongst the rubble. A blessed and deafening silence reigned, both in room and blood. The demon would remain at bay for a while longer. A small creak blasted through the muteness.

"Bellatrix Black!"

Another gasped her name and she regretted those severe lips. Heaped upon on the debris-laden floor, even in Bella's drained state, the lilting voice of the Gryffindor Head was unmistakable.

_'…The door…the door…'_

She'd forgotten the appeal of latching. Clearly. To her left, a rushed scramble; debris was thrown carelessly about to make a path. Bellatrix shifted and sharply groaned; a sliver of glass embedded in her side made itself painfully known.

_'No no, not…_**_her_**_…no…'_

She did not desire to want, although she did. So instead she wanted nothing. Bella braced herself for hands. And when they touched, her blood boiled, battling itself in inborn hatred and longing. The moon, now unencumbered by windows, lit the beauty of her mentor's face and the battlefield that surrounded the two (one knelt, one heaped). It hurt her.

_'Oh…'_

Hues vacuumed, and dark hair of indeterminable color wove into a messy waist-length plait. Slapdash strands of hair caressed the older witch's face and shoulders. Clad only in night robes (without usual glasses perched upon nose) Professor McGonagall's eyes betrayed emerald worry; her protégé's onyx remained unfocused. Decorum put aside, teaching hands pulled the injured student to her and held Bella there. Forgetting herself, in the beauty and infamous hair of her mentor, Bellatrix allowed it. A trembling embrace for long seconds. But then she collected awareness and violently pulled away; McGonagall's tight hold was a caring bruise. A firm hand lifted Bella's chin to meet sharp emerald. They demanded.

"What's the _meaning_ of this, Miss Black?! I saw you…_impossible_ magic. Not possible, too young…" Professor McGonagall gazed helplessly around her desecrated classroom, muttering half to herself.

Bellatrix was tired. Tired of it all. She laughed nefariously, cackling a definition of _Modus Operandi_. Upon sounding, it chilled Minerva to the marrow, as it would every night thereafter. (That looping signature after expulsion of darkness. And in futures, confirming a killing.) In odd juxtaposition, Bella leaned mockingly into touch still upon her face; she spoke cruelly.

"MEANING?!" Her voice thundered tympani, "There is no meaning, _Minerrrrrva_. Though I assure you, it is most _definitely _possible."

Despite herself, Professor McGonagall shivered at the snaring tone, the throaty throaty. Childlike, protégé continued in voice.

"I simply felt like it. _Pretty_, isn't it?" Eerie hummed, and Bellatrix felt the reel of darkness within. It never left, always calling without drumroll. She threw the gentle hand away and stood abruptly. And twirled.

Horrified, Minerva rose to stand, watching darkness begin its settle behind student eyes.

"Aren't you proud of my work, _Pro-fess-or_?" With the ornate flourish, Bellatrix swept an outward arm in presentation of her destruction. "Well…" Bellatrix stepped towards McGonagall, twirling wand between spindle fingers. "After all, you taught me everything I know. Well, _most_ everything that is."

Desperately, Minerva attempted hops upon a stable spot of ground. Ground, which she found to be rapidly crumbling beneath her heels. Warily confused, she brought them back to facts.

"Miss Black, you'd do well to mind your tone. What ever has gotten into you, and _Head Girl_ at that?! You've all but obliterated my classroom. And despite our…relationship, Miss Black. _Detention_. Three months worth, _not _including reparations of the mess you've created."

_'Oh, how she didn't understand. None of them did. But they would. Soon.' _

"There won't be a need for that, Professor. As of today's last scholastic period, I am no longer your student, nor will I have need to be. If you check with your _beloved_ Headmaster, I'm sure you'll find a dozen N.E.W.T.s scored as "Outstanding" upon his ridiculous desk."

Gobsmacked. Minerva-the-swot had only seconds to be offended at her student's academic impropriety.

"You know, one really ought tell the ministry: their security is rather weak and…shitty. _He _won't _stop_ at stealing exams." It was with some regret Bellatrix watched. Terrible understanding washed over her mentor's face. After this night, the professor she had revered, loved even, would no longer hold her in any sort of esteem. That, Bella would make sure of, as there was no other way.

_'Oh, do I…did I love you, Minerva…' _

In the form of a lone tear, Bellatrix watched emotion pass over Minerva's face. A bottom lip that trembled in furiousness. To some extent it flattered, that Professor McGonagall cared enough to be betrayed. And Bellatrix supposed it was indeed a terrible betrayal; it had been seven years. Seven years of intense investment, mentorship…and fostering talent on Minerva's part. And for Bellatrix, a seven-year glimpse of what she might have become. Almost immediately, McGonagall had taken her under-wing (despite their House rivalry). Minerva was not a professor to waste talent…and Bellatrix _was_ the embodiment of talent. It was betrayal, to the both of them. But still, Bella could not halt the smirk as teaching eyes flickered to her sleeve-clad arm.

"Don't you worry _yet_, Professor. He hasn't _marked _me for his own. Not for another fortnight, at least. But nonetheless, I'll know when he calls for me; the Dark Lord has his ways." With her Lord's name spoken, the once bonhomie between the two froze in sudden winter. Minerva drew her wand steadily; Bella's eyes widened in surprise. And then narrowed, as she returned the favor (though a half-hearted reciprocity it was).

"Oh, He's _marked_ you alright…" Professor McGonagall spat. "How long?"

Bellatrix knew what she asked and could not hide from raging eyes. She remained silent, as games had been put aside. It was apparent her betrayal no longer could be delayed, a betrayal of the _second_ person she cared about most. But it was rather unavoidable if she desired to protect the _first_, which she did. Tempestuous, Professor McGonagall yelled into the silence.

"HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN _**HIS**_ HOW LONG?!"

At her throat, the wand now resided. And despite the severity of the situation, Bella was slightly aroused. For once she decided to answer truthfully.

"Since birth." It was not of her own volition, of course, but she had been Black since her conception. Trained…indoctrinated (call it what you will), since she was womb-bound. They _all_ had: gentle Meda. Even little-sun Cissa. At this proclamation, the wand grazing her hallow trembled. Knowing its emotion, Bella did not fear and went on…softly. "Minerva, You know _what_ I am. You must know what all the wizarding world whispers: I am a **Black**. And yet, people fear the mark Slytherin? Oh, it is nothing…_nothing_ compared. All know the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, but none know its meaning: darkness inside us all, making home down there, begat with each child. You must understand there is no choice."

Hot-headed Scot confirmed none of this.

"You dare to speak of choice? There is _always_ choice. How could you ally yourself with _Him_?! He means to murder, Bella! Murder. Murder, murder. And we had tea…_yesterday_?" Grass flashed odd dew, slipping in grasp of the situation, no steady footholds to find. The wand had pulled away in inch (but only one)…as Minerva frantically tried to reconcile the dark women before her, with the Bella she knew. Oh she had _known_ the family was pureblood, adhering to the ignorant beliefs of old. But Bella. Not this Bell…not her—

Bellatrix giggled oddly in ring.

"Look about you, Professor! I create destruction, I destroy. Reluctantly, but I am chaos incarnate. And I have to revel in it, Minerva, I must. It flows through my very veins, unfettered. My true self won't be denied any longer. I tried. I failed. I reassessed my point of view." Her tone grew oddly flat at the end, either in self-disgust or resignation. "Out of respect for you, I did not harm any of your precious _**mudbloods**_ tonight." Hands vaguely gestured. "_This _was the result." She indicated the pathetic remnants of a classroom.

At the slur use, Professor McGonagall bared teeth and spat out,

"What happened to that shy first-year, who sought knowledge as _friend_? I saw wonder-filled eyes, with every Transfiguration successfully mastered. You hold secrets not even some masters know…" Minerva trailed off in hushed reverence, hushed recollection.

Green stones minted, and pleaded a last switch. They perused Bella's brooding depths, for a minuscule glimpse, of a girl lost to the dark Black woman before her. Bellatrix was the muscle freeze, involuntarily considering the clear plea for a half moment. And for a scintilla second, Professor McGonagall swore the ghost of a wonder-eyed girl pressed curls against glass-irises. In apparent apology, the Bella-ghost caressed coal pits in sorrow before disappearing as the eaten mist. Bellatrix was the unsettled firm, soft in tone…anguished in solidity.

"She died. I swallowed her and became the_ other_. She remains but in memory. This is my path, Minerva. What use have I for a pathetic schoolgirl who never could protect others, who only brought pain to this body and mind of mine? You know nothing of what is worthy in my family. And although perhaps in yours, _that_ girl had no business in my world."

And then Bellatrix kept her silence, kept her mourning thoughts partitioned. Instead, she rejoiced in another girl, fairer than she, with some semblance of innocence kept. In import, Sunshine filtered her veins for a supporting second; the decision was no longer in question. Sky eyes…forever burnt on the back of her retinas; they painted her resolved. Snarls painted upon academic beauty and McGonagall became the biting tirade.

"Worth, you speak of worth? You are _neither _worthy of this school, nor the magic you wield. I don't recognize you, and it's clear you don't know yourself anymore. You've betrayed your oath as my apprentice…everything I've taught you."

Both saw the memories behind eyes. Minerva did not attempt to hide tears that flowed freely, either in anger, or perhaps in loss. The heart squeezed. Throughout her entire diatribe, Professor McGonagall had watched the expression of utmost boredom upon Bellatrix's face. Frustrated she hissed.

"You're not fit to walk these hallowed halls. And to think, I held you when you cried with a heart broken. And now you're most certainly not _worthy_ of me!"

It was only at the last sentiment Bella showed any feeling at all. Minerva steeled the heart, as her (former) protégé's face blanched, body jerking ever so slightly. The last arrow had pierced wounding words home. Blood had begun to seep through the dark girl's robe, where the embedded glass sliver still lodged. Beautiful, a red lip trembled, matching pale hands. The small chunk of white-heart remains, impaled though its beat. This woman she had loved secretly, the anti-family that had been her own, now it scarred upon her.

_'Tears will only roll in the deep…'_

She hurt. A different pain was needed, to offset the heart-tear. Blood and explanations would suffice. Fiercely, from her side, Bella pulled out the glass shard, enjoying sharp pains that ripped her through. Minerva shuddered at the tortured wail that let loose from her student's gut. And before Professor McGonagall could stop trembling hands, Bella unlaced her corset and raked the glass remnant over-top a breast, deep and across the heart. Without thought, Minerva rushed to her charge, enclosing firm arm around her apprentice to prevent collapse. The other hand (wand clutched) placed frantically over dark red that ran through fingers. At the welcomed ache, Bellatrix buckled; Minerva lowered them to the floor. Their knees the slow gravity. Obsidian eyes shone oddly bright in the dark and locked upon her own. With her hands, Minerva struggled to curtail the flow. Frantic undertones.

"_Vulnera Sanentur_, _Vulnera Sanentur_, _Vulnera Sanentur._" The blood began to staunch, but still it flowed weakly.

"Min...Minerva…" Bella whispered.

Professor McGonagall was astounded; her surprise patient retained consciousness despite the pain (self-induced or not). And regardless of the betrayal that had been cast, the bond between two was not yet fully severed. She learned closer to hear. Bella's voice cracked, but it was not weak. In fact her message was quite clear and caustic.

"You made that very _clear_ in your office last month, that I was not _worthy_ of you." Minerva grew pale. But Bellatrix paid no heed and continued rasping truth into ear. "You need not remind me of my inability of _worthiness_. I promise you, those same recurring sentiments came from my father…as he _**raped**_ family decorum into me since childhood…"

Horrified, and suddenly understanding too much, the older witch held Bella closer, as wretched words penetrated working knowledge of the girl.

"Oh yes, Professor. Of us three daughters, be glad that I alone seem to incur the worst of wrath. Well, of course I prompted. But what would _you_ have done, with two younger sisters in the house?" Idly, Bellatrix fingered the messy braid that conveniently fell to her hand-path.

Silence loaded. An anguished tear dropped from green eye onto wild curls. And the scent of pine enveloped academic nostrils.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>R & R.

**Translation:**  
>- <em>Modus operandi<em> (Latin) - Approximently means "method of operation." In English, often shortened to MO.  
>- T<em>oujours pur<em> (French) - Always pure.

(Credit: _Adele_ – Rolling in the Deep)


	3. April 1970: Flashback

The mingling scents probed, and despite herself, Professor McGonagall recalled the past month.

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><p><em>One month earlier: April 1970.<em>

The girl had withdrawn lately, and yet bloomed in the darkest of ways. Minerva worried. To put it mildly, there had been some suspicious _incidents_ at Hogwarts. Had the suspect been anyone less clever or cunning, long ago the contraband acts would have been pinpointed to culprit…and appropriate action taken. But as the suspect was Hogwarts' own esteemed Head Girl (not to mention Minerva's finest pupil), it did rather place Professor McGonagall in a precarious situation. And while she considered herself above gossip, rumors of Bella's legendary prowess (both in dueling and in seduction) had not escaped her ear. She never had placed much stock in rumors. Though exactly _what _she believed, Minerva wasn't sure anymore; the Bella she knew was frequently kind (though suddenly cruel). And eager for knowledge.

Over the years, Professor McGonagall had watched a (once eager) child mature into the sealed fortress of a woman. Nobody's fool, Bellatrix was rather a dark enigma; she only revealed what she wanted you to see. And perhaps Minerva was granted further entry into Bellatrix's waters, more so than others (save for the Black sisters). But a glimpse is only a glimpse. And as far as the professor could tell, her prodigy was running fast. As from what, Minerva could only postulate wildly.

The girl was wealth of talent. And at Albus' urging, Minerva had offered to personally train Bellatrix in her second year. She had relished the challenge brought by Miss Black's keen mind and innate magical talent. Childless and with little family, Minerva thought Bella a legacy she might mold, nourish, and leave behind on a far day. That first year of private study had been purely academic tutorage; neither party willing to offer up intimate parts of themselves for the viewing. But slowly, a deeper trust began to transcend the bond of teacher and student. This was aptly illustrated during Bellatrix's third year, by request of Minerva to take her on as official apprentice. While apprenticeships at Hogwarts were not unheard of, they were rather rare in practice. The last incidence being Minerva's own apprenticeship, to Albus Dumbledore (her loyalty to former master and mentor well known). Apprenticeships signified an immense amount of trust between both master and student. And required a fragile intimacy, simply by virtue of the relationship.

But Bellatrix Black had piqued a fervid educator within Professor McGonagall. And so despite the presenting cons, Minerva had agreed to train Bella in her own-mastered subject: Transfiguration. The master had not been disappointed; Bellatrix was a most fervent student, both driven and hardworking. Together, they two explored the depths of transfiguration as only a master and apprentice could. For a time they were seamless. But as the _Black_ in Bella grew, so did the cracks. And as eager as Bellatrix was to learn, she was as eager as to conceal.

Minerva had attempted to act as confidante, to the ever elusive and tightlipped Miss Black, with little result (despite their relationship, which was far _more_ than cordial). Yet McGonagall's own cubs, even professors loyal or congenial to Gryffindor, scoffed at the atypical cross-House mentorship. As for Slytherin's loyalty, they knew far better than to cross Bellatrix. Once in front of Bellatrix, a thick-headed fourth-year cruelly intimated Minerva was a "_frigid _old hag who couldn't get a proper shag if she _paid _for it!"

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><p><em>Recollection served up: the fierce shield that had materialized from Bella's protective rage. It had surrounded in brilliant blue, blasting the boy into the stone wall behind. The professor had doled out a month's worth of detention to boy, ironically, in a frigid fashion. But in a most atypical McGonagall moment, she had not admonished Bellatrix for the inability to control herself. Back in office, they had not spoken of the incident. Ignoring probing eyes, master had commenced the evening's private lesson, as usual. Student had excelled, as normal. Minerva had assumed the incident forgotten, but during a lull Bella had commented out of the blue: <em>

_"Those who think you frigid know nothing of cold." _

_Caught unaware, before fiercely wiping it away in pride, Minerva had released a sudden tear at the hurt the fatuous boy caused. At this rare display, once again Bellatrix's anger had magically manifested, exploding Minerva's favorite lamp. Professor McGonagall had spent the next week teaching the girl how to better control destructive emotions, so as not to produce accidental magic. At the time, it hadn't occurred to Professor McGonagall that both incidents had occurred on her behalf._

_Later that week. Despite his red-faced shame and embarrassment (but due to his constant discomfort) the idiotic boy had ultimately been forced to Madam Pomfrey. A forced reliance that his genitals burst spontaneously into magical flames, with interval recurrence. Although permanently harmless, the flames burnt itchy-hot at the chime of every hour, for no less than a period of ten minutes. Indeed, it was never proven that Miss Black had hexed the foolish boy, but Minerva held her suspicions. (Bellatrix's continuous cat-ate-canary-smirk being but one factor; her pestering regarding the concealment of magical signatures, yet another.) After that, Slytherin left Bellatrix and her odd choice of mentor more than well enough alone. And so was 1967. _

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><p>Minerva had known she and her young apprentice had been steadily growing closer. She had chalked it up to similar interests, and to Bella's approaching graduation. Mistakenly so, Professor McGonagall hadn't examined her own feelings. It was impossible to remain emotionless to Bellatrix, whether she evoked ire, lust, attraction, or envy. She had a dark charisma that lacked in her younger sisters; it pulled everyone in her path…in. And though an accomplished witch, still only human, Professor McGonagall was not immune to the dark charms that pulled at her. But when it came to Minerva, in Bellatrix's case, it was more than simple conquest. There was some amount of complex heart behind it.<p>

_'Oh, how wrong she had been…how had she not seen it before?'_

Devious stares thrown in her direction, the tingles in the room after a heated debate…all had led them to moment Professor McGonagall had been behind Bellatrix, patiently guiding her through a particularly complex wand movement (a mastery level spell), and the next…the next moment everything had changed completely. Vaguely, the professor remembered charcoal eyes gazing up at her, fathomless in lustful contemplation. Still, she wasn't sure _which_ of them moved first. But then mouths were upon each other, drawing, locked in a kiss. Startled at the contact, Professor McGonagall hadn't the presence of mind to end it. Bellatrix smelled of bonfires, pine, and magic. The scents had pulled at Minerva.

The kiss had not remained sweet for long. Hands of their own accord roamed free, turning it fervid. A series of moments: practiced hands grasping the curve of hipbones, curls now upon a professor's desk, feline instincts amongst full black skirts, fever kiss, fingertips sunken into emerald's neck, moon-pale hands wrapping around that loosened braid…pulling her closer. Minerva found herself with hand upon her protégé's trembling breast. And when the professor's thumb brushed nipple, hard through fabric, a moan let loose from the throat of a wild-eyed student. It spoke of lust and passion. But Bella's eyes…Minerva saw hints of _more_ there. She wrenched her lips from Bellatrix's mouth, which moaned at the loss and pouted slightly.

_'What have I done?!'_ The professor abhorred herself, as the girl she called apprentice eyed her with obvious lust. _'That innocence was not mine to claim. Advantage, I've taken advantage…'_

Bella hopped off the desk and caressed her mentor's face in seduction. She leaned in.

"Why ever did you stop, Minerva…_Minerva_…" the girl murmured against her heated neck.

The professor trembled at warming breath and vibrations; the rather savage mouth nipped at her pulse point. Minerva whimpered at the silking sensation and all but threw her student off of her, almost to the floor.

"_Miss_ Black." Professor McGonagall said severely.

Bella chuckled hoarsely and raised an eyebrow.

"_Misssss_ Black?!" She hissed, "Since when do you call me _that_? Fifth year and not since. You call me Bella." Black eyes shone lusty escape and the girl approached again.

Caught, Minerva was oddly entranced by full lips. Magic prickled at the air, cooking it thick and heavy with desires. Professor McGonagall was the intoxicated, Bellatrix her choice drug. The dark girl grasped Minerva's hands and placed them upon her own body. Minerva tried not to immerse in Bella's curvaceous landscape, but she soon found that her hands did not obey reason; they simmered. It was not gentle, it was raw and it tickled Minerva's senses like no other. And so, Minerva fell prey to the beautiful creature in front of her that was…

_'Undressing. Oh my.' _

And sure enough, Bellatrix had begun to unlace her corset, slowly unraveling dangers. She'd stopped halfway through, frowning, and then subsequently attacked Minerva's clothing in a fiendish storm. In all her years, in all her lovers, never before had intensity threatened to _combust _Minerva. There was no hiding Bellatrix's dark and painful beauty (or intentions); she drove mad the students at Hogwarts, particularly those who had tried to posses the Black pulchritude, to no avail. It was the beauty that undid Minerva, she supposed. Though the woman herself touched Minerva far inside. Many a time their minds and wits had matched in fierce debate…or shared a private sentiment. But as Professor McGonagall found herself half-disrobed in her office, full lips closed, ruby over pert nipple. She cried out pleasure as Night rendered its magic mouth upon her.

_'This is a most dangerous affair,'_ Minerva concluded, inbetween stoned jolts of euphoria, which threatened to undo her completely.

Purposed hands snaked into her mentor's robes, and raked sharp nails against naked back. Though mostly soundless in her own moans, Bellatrix growled her pleasure as the older witch couldn't resist, and arched into a hot mouth. Tangled hands in Black curls. The assault upon breast was tantalizing. And emerald eyes darkened, locked with those of night, as Bellatrix sucked and nipped.

_'A kiss merely gone too far.'_

Despite the immense heat flowing through her, reason struck the professor's mind as a bell. Minerva mourned the loss to come, as she again resigned herself to loneliness, in several ways. A final second she allowed, to savor that fiery mouth. She detested the only method to stopping this liaison; it was not a gentle route. She tugged the beautiful mouth away from her breast…teeth that nipped…

"**NO**!" She spoke vehemently.

Taken aback, Bellatrix stopped action cold.

"Miss Black, _this_ is…highly inappropriate." Minerva did not have adequate words for what was happening. Only emphasis.

For the quick moment Bellatrix looked hurt, before returning to familiar haughty expression, one that McGonagall knew to be a disguised front. Bella remained arrogant, expressionless of sincere emotion. But Minerva swore she saw the rogue tear slip down a flushed cheek; it stopped to glisten.

"You are my student, my _apprentice_. I am your mentor, your _professor_! This…_this_..."

Seamlessly, Bella rose to approach her would-be-lover (who fervently fastened up her undergarments, inner robes, and finally professorial outer robes).

"_Minerrrva_…"

Professor McGonagall closed her eyes at the lover's tone that rolled off student tongue. A sacred trust broken…innocence taken; these things she perceived wrongly inflicted by her own hand. They grated her mind.

"I _graduate_ in less then a month's time. I'll be your student no longer, _then_." Coal eyes beseeched curiously for short moments. A pale finger danced strange patterns on the back Minerva's hand; knuckles were traced in odd satisfaction. McGonagall jerked away from the probing touch.

"Miss Black, that's _Professor_ McGonagall to you." Back on, her professor hat neatly slipped, and no more the passionate Minerva existed in this room.

Bellatrix argued, tempests forming inside eyes. Professor McGonagall felt magical fingertips; darkness spun out from the stone set. It was unnerving, but then a moment. And the feeling passed, as Bella's face softened in a milestone memory and became the non sequitur.

"Min-Minerva? I haven't forgotten, you know. That night…two years ago. When the—

I…you were kind when I needed it most." Unconsciously, Bellatrix touched her skin where the outline of a handprint once lay in bruise.

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><p><em>Professor McGonagall remembered that January night well. 1968. It had been one of the few times Bellatrix had sought her assistance beyond scholastic matters. Students had begun returning to Hogwarts after the Winter holiday. Three hours past midnight. And newly nineteen Bella had arrived (unannounced) at Minerva's office door. Caked in dried blood. Professor McGonagall had horrified at a tortured soul, and the dark bruises littering pale skin. But she had been more dismayed at Bellatrix's silence to her attacker. And as to why the witch would protect such a perpetrator. (Dark whispers of the family ran through Minerva's brain. After, Minerva had reported the horror; Dumbledore had personally investigated the incident…but nothing had come of it, of course). <em>

_So as not to wake Madam Pomfrey at the late hour, in her own private quarters, the professor had healed the girl's wounds as best she could. Gentle words were her offering, the attempt to soothe. But Bellatrix had appeared the stunned wall, stationary and numbed of all emotion. At Minerva's movements, it was only Bella's flinches and wild eyes that were true insight to the amount of abuse the girl had endured. Unable to offer further comfort, as the girl either refused or was unable to acknowledge reality, Professor McGonagall had escorted the mute back to her House. (In the hopes that familiarity would somewhat ease Bella's numbed state.)_

_The password remained the only word Bellatrix had been able to utter. As portal to Slytherin common room swung open, Minerva had found her arms suddenly filled; Black curls tucked under her chin. Bella had held on fiercely for a fast moment. Lips had trembled the unspoken against Minerva's neck, before ducking into the portrait, without the backwards glance or a word. Professor McGonagall had surprised herself, not in allowing the embrace, but in the tender feelings that accompanied it. Steadfast in recurring refusal, Bellatrix had never again alluded to that night…until now._

* * *

><p>"I'm more than of age." The girl oozed logic, and then dueling confusion. "And Minerva, I <em>feel<em> for you. I can't help my feeling..." Bellatrix trailed off, searching answers. Searching the professor's eyes, for guidance. For the passionate woman of minutes ago. But if she was present, then she was hidden well.

Inside, Minerva fluttered, flattered. She saw, considered a million maybes. She saw, that is, until reality brandished its crushing jaws. She loved the woman before her, this bright star. But love was not _love_. And that…she did not. (Memories. The curled young girl. Trusting eyes. They flashed accusingly.) Desired Bellatrix, yes. But_ love_ her? Minerva knew she could, given chance. The hypothetical, the possibility of this; it frightened her. Falling in love was not supposed to be a crime. But with a _student_...a crime most heinous. For Minerva, this made the list: the worst offenses an educator could commit. Even the faint possibility raised her hackles. She, of course, would not let it come to pass; it was better to shoot the fleeting fledgling now, before it burgeoned and no longer could be quelled.

A sickle for your thoughts?" Bellatrix queried. "Am I alone in _feeling_? Say you sense _something_ for me in that heart of yours, beyond that as teacher…and do you?" Bella was uncharacteristically shy, clumsy with her grappling words. A grave sign that she was indeed sincere. But sex. Conquest. Love. Affection. Fond feelings of any variety. There seemed a lack of disparate understanding, on Bella's part. This should have been focus. But it was not.

_Do you?_ The question she feared had come. And Minerva suspected her answer would somehow destroy parts of the young woman before her. There _was _feeling. But it wasn't ardor. Old unrequited infatuation; it tasted bitter in her mouth as she also recalled her youth.

_'Ah Albus, how the tables have turned. I swear, if you dare even a laugh when I tell you…' _Funny, how the roles had_ switched_ this time around. _'Oh bloody Hell, Bella. Why me?! Of all the people you could have chosen (and you would have your pick). They already fall to your feet.' _

The part of Minerva's brain that retained keen function, it prickled at Bella's odd word choice. _Feeling_. Peculiar the girl didn't go with love. Lust even. But _feeling_? Perhaps it was summation for this strange-love of theirs: academic in kinship. Perhaps it was something else entirely. Professor McGonagall stalked to the window to stare out at the rain. It pelted the glass with tears. As her eyes, she let the sky cry; she did not relish her next words spoken.

"I do feel; you're not just any student." That memory. Those curls tucked under-chin. "But that is different from _feeling_. Do you understand? And Miss Black, this type of…liaison is not an appropriate expression of what we _are_. It simply cannot be."

"And what are we, Professor?" Bella whispered and approached…head cocked.

Minerva was unclear; the question intoned a strange confusion. For moments, she saw a queer vision of holes, knowledge missing in her student's social understanding of the world. But she over-passed it when second guess thought herself insane. She didn't press deeper into the witch's sentiment. And regretted it later on.

"I regret your _feelings_…of this manner. I am your mentor, your professor. And at times, your exasperated and fond confidante. In time, I'll be friend, dear. Nothing less, but never anything _more_." Professor McGonagall was neither harsh, nor gentle. It was simple a statement of fact, one they would not get around. No good would come of this…this kind of touch.

"You _desire_ me, Minerva." Bellatrix voice was low, truthful; she could play this game as well. After all, this too was statement of fact. She joined her mentor at the window, her arm wrapping about the woman's waist. It was a curious juxtaposition.

The professor chanced touch in return; a doting hand repositioned curls. And wry note passed her lips.

"Miss Black, might I remind you, that you play at, and _with_ desire. I rather think it a side-affect of knowing you. _Most _people at this school desire you, in some capacity or another." Minerva felt the smirk bore into her, the one she did not see. Her words continued. "However, my feelings on that subject are neither here nor there; call them moot, Miss Black. As I am your mentor_,_ I therefore do _not _desire. Do you understand me?" Professor McGonagall turned a strained face toward her student. It allowed a split-second glimpse of the witch that remained Minerva beneath McGonagall. Uncharacteristically, the emerald witch offered up softly, "The only thing I desire, Bella, is the lack of desire itself."

The witch inched closer toward emerald eyes and hissed with emotion.

"And you think I would ever _wish_ to feel this way, fond of another?" Bella scoffed, "As if my insides might tear out at the very thought of my Ci—" She shook her head violently, and clamped unspoken sentiments shut with tapping teeth.

Minerva quirked silent questions at her, ones that Bella ignored…pointedly. Pissed at the involuntary vulnerability her mentor always seemed to evoke, Bellatrix broke their embrace and turned caustic. Became the layered speaker.

"No matter if _this_ is a queer secondary, in an outlier category." She indicated the space between. "Do you really think I would ever wish something so weak and _pitiful_ as love upon myself…and _twice_-over at that?!" Bellatrix ranted and accidentally spoke her heart, revealing the full extent of her affections. Fondness for her mentor and infatuation for another. The former was love. The latter…_love_. Despising of herself, Bellatrix saw the professor's eyes widen, as sockets boxed.

Minerva pushed aside her rampaging curiosity (to know the girl's _primary_ and actual paramour). Momentarily, they had the question of their own relationship with which to deal. In overload, McGonagall suddenly understood too much about the polyamorous inner-workings of Bella's mind. No, _polyamorous_ was the wrong word. Working overtime, neurons focused and fit lone puzzle pieces together. And while far from complete, to her mentor, the jigsaw of Bellatrix was suddenly that much clearer. But there was terrible inkling: the idea that the girl equated sex with any sort of fond feeling. Or un-fond feeling. The professor frowned, knowing her student could be rather…indiscriminate at times. She wondered how it tied in…to the lust that just blew up in her office.

McGonagall tossed the concept of judgment out the door. After all, she had thought it to be a pig-flying day before anyone could fully capture dark Bella's heart, in any way. It was common knowledge, that the eldest Black did not have friends. Sisters, were where her heart lay. (Though as of late, not so much Andromeda. Even the professor had noticed their stranger-estrangement of recent years. Still, Minerva was well aware Bella would blow mountains for Andy, if push merited shove.) Then there were followers; sycophant lackeys that Bellatrix tolerated. Also, a circle of acquaintances, with whom the girl socialized. Albeit, under a rather abundant amount of duress.

But now her protégé claimed an actual _second _dwelled, securely-fond within those pulsing beats? And not just _any_ other, but herself: Minerva McGonagall. Oh, what secrets the chit had kept down low! The professor had assumed respect; a hard enough feat to earn from the girl. She had assumed a fondness had grown from the intimacy of their academia. But mentorship, had apparently fostered a genuine affection. Reluctant in admittance, but Bellatrix adored the professor, far beyond the required respect. There wasn't time to be touched at the sentiment. Only time to backpedal, to try and make the girl comprehend: sating lust with the other, was not an option. The load was overwhelming, _uncertain_ to the Master's mind. (_Uncertain_, as to how the witch had assumed from affection ought come coupling.) But the course of action was not. She had to nip the bud, make clear that anything resembling any sort of romantic…

_'Love _was out of the question. _'If only to be sure of boundaries, Miss Bellatrix. As my student, I must do this. Despite all the hypotheticals in the world. I'm sorry for this hurt, but this particular course of action must end now, before you are in too deep.'_

"I think you _knew_ what I would say before you kissed me, Miss Black. The answer is _no_. Such display of affection cannot be." The professor, for her life, could not quite impart right: that the two simply did not match — the feeling and Bella's course of action. "Claim my desire if you must, Bellatrix, but we both know that you take the desire of anyone you set your sights upon." Bella appeared the surprised at her mentor's insight. Minerva huffed and continued. "Do you truly think me deaf, Bella? Even my own house speaks of your…_prowls_. I do wish you wouldn't _do_…as you do."

Bellatrix couldn't help but smirk at the mention of her _liaisons_. The professor half turned emeralds in the annoyed roll, and half probed.

"And I surmise your…_lover_ shares my same wish." It was a strange question-statement; a testing of the waters. Or perhaps it was another piece to the puzzle that was Bella, and Minerva was keen to discern its edges.

Either way, Bella's facial features twisted into strange pangs of regret and rebellion.

"I am what I am and she abides me for that (witch) which I am. And she's my…she's not my _lover_." The word turned over in the mouth oddly, as if unencompassing in all aspects.

And as always with Bella, it was a non-answer, Minerva realized. Quizzically, the mentor witch probed further.

"A woman? How…like you. And _not_ your lover?" The single glance to Bella's face easily discerned the perhaps missing word. "Ah, I see. She's not your lover…_yet_." But still, it was only one solved variable, and the equation had many unknowns.

Bellatrix shifted uncomfortably, revealing half-truths. In that moment, Minerva knew with constructing shame, that her student might have spilled her soul…had the professor prodded long enough. Affection, it seemed, grew vulnerability in the Bella-creature. But Professor McGonagall wasn't the cruel woman, and steered away from such ill will. Instead she focused on the current revelation.

"How divergent of you. It's atypical of you to refrain." The eyebrow raise, the smallest lip quirk. Professor McGonagall allowed only the slightest amount of disdain to coat her words. But honestly, she was the intrigued; Bella's restraint indicated commitment of some sort, toward this would-be paramour. The apprentice twirled her wand idly. This habit, Minerva had come to learn, meant many a thing (depending upon its execution). In this case, discomfort; the subject had hit too close to something.

"It is, isn't it?" Introspectively, oil eyes burnt Black fire for another. To herself, to veins, Bella whispered, "Some grey day soon, I'll steal the sun and taste the orange…the tree approaches ripening time."

Minerva marveled at the strange possession, the dark tender marking Bella's voice. She hadn't the mind-muscle to ponder the odd words; her student sought to escape emerald probes with diversion (and lust). Upon the witching air, Minerva could almost smell the impending subject change.

"But then again, this isn't about _her_ right now, is it? She's everlasting." The tone was flippant. Ironic, as Bella felt anything but. "No, this is about my _alchemy_ for you." Though she remained firm in the sun's gravity, emeralds beckoned her shining eyes.

_'Ah. There it is. Our subject switch. Right on schedule.'_

Coal eyes canvassed Minerva's form (boldly accompanying the subject change). Curves were traced by charcoal. Rouged lips brushed into a smirk. But it quickly died as Bella's mentor continued.

"Fine then. We can move on. But a crude segue, my dear, and the rather poor smokescreen at that. But hide your soul behind lust if you must." To the window, the academic turned again. Her back purposefully towards Bellatrix. Knowing the darkened eyes thrust her way, clear in intent. Knowing she must. Professor McGonagall lied. "And although highly flattered, you're out of line. I regret this relationship cannot be fulfilled as you wish it to. I value your affection, dear. But not if this is how it manifests."

Minerva did not see the thin strand that held Bella's rope together. She did not see it snap. Emotions high and uncontrolled, Bella felt the horror within her blood rise. She knew after this, any white intentions afloat her mind would soon be swallowed. By the Blackness of bloodrite. Her vows. Her fate. Perhaps not right away…but in time. Devastation became her, and led her to ire. She had hoped. She had hoped consummation with her desired Master would have annulled— no matter, now. This, apparently her bed made. Snarling, the girl made way to the window. Professor McGonagall startled as hot breath invaded her neck and ear.

"You will _regret _more than my feelings, Professor, as I assure you…that you've tipped the scalding scales."

Minerva turned, to face her then. At the time she had not understood. Neither the sentiment, nor the mixed emotions upon Bellatrix's face: lust, rage, devastation, hate, agony…love. But above all, the strange relief of resignation. Abruptly, Bellatrix backed away. At the office doorway she stood, allowing their eyes to catch one last time. Anguish painted Black irises as ripped canvas.

"Will your mind not change, not even _entertain_ the possibility, Minerva? I would've rather remained with _you_ as my Master." Bellatrix spoke in doubled meanings, hoping in vain that Minerva would understand. But knowing in the end, she would not.

"Tonight was a mistake; a _misjudgment_ on my part, Miss Black. Nothing of such sorts will continue, do you understand? I beg of you, abandon…_this_." Minerva's voice was tired, still unsure what any of this was. She wished for another place and time, because it could have been. Even just once. Horribly, an impossible vision: a cottage by the sea…black eyes touching her in the night. It all danced out of reached for Minerva. Perhaps as it should.

And Bellatrix's eyes were unreadable.

"But in no way has your apprenticeship been…_revoked_." Professor McGonagall chose her words carefully. "You are a fine student, the best I've had to date. That has not changed, Miss Black." In an authentic moment, she allowed her own affections out; a dared hope of killing anguish. "And witchling, you do mean the world to me."

Turmoil, but the youth of Bella's face softened for the smallest of important seconds. And then hardened; igneous features overcoming. But it was enough. And Minerva showed her pride.

"I surmise that one day, the student will become the Master. Your skills surpass mine in many respects, Bellatrix. I think you will teach _me_ a thing or two, in years to come." With a lilt to her voice, Minerva attempted to return to lighter conversation. But the professor was unhappy with the wrinkled distance now placed between she and her student. For a long while after this, it would not be the same — the rapport of Master and Apprentice. No more academic-afternoon tea affairs. No more impromptu letters orchestrated by owl…no more. Not this month anyway. As mentor, she already saw that the bond between teacher and student had been altered. Replaced with this darker bond of secrets and regret.

At the lilt of her name from Master lips, a somber smile graced Bellatrix. _'Your head will burn. I know would surely make your eyes weep blood…'_

"I pray to never_ teach_ you anything, Professor." Bellatrix's tone vacillated between mocking and sincere, as if she struggled to decide upon her soul.

Again, Professor McGonagall felt the dark outward surge; magic crackling from her student. This time however, it materialized. The firelight lamps flickered once or twice, and then extinguished the room into pitch. A moment, and they again were again lit, with the silent motion of Bella's hand. A nasty feeling; foreboding. It washed over Professor McGonagall. _'Uncontrolled emotion or Meta—' _The thought abruptly flipped trains._ 'No, that was something else, something else entirely.' _

Bellatrix regarded the lamps, and then made out the doorway. Cryptically, she left her mentor with odd words. Hushed, as if relaying secrets.

"No one likes the _Black_. Stranger, darkness seeks light, to remind itself _why_ they battle. Some believe the single light can ward off shadows. Whilst others know that lights always extinguish…eventually. But the question remains: which is the true _Master_ of the other."

"Bellatrix." Professor McGonagall spoke nothing.

"No. Screw your lights, I've my starring Sun. You just remember _that _when Night comes 'round and damns us all."

Black eyes left unsettled emerald in the room.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> R & R. Perhaps somewhat OOC for both characters. But I always imagined young Bellatrix as more innocent...once upon a time. And Minerva as less hard.

(Credits: _Adele_ – Rolling in the Deep_, Billy Joel – _She's Always a Women to Me, _Marcy Playground_ - Sex & Candy)


	4. May 2, 1970: The Present

_May 2, 1970. The present._

Piled on the floor, the professor's eyes closed in regret. Not for her actions, but for her student's current and…_precarious_ state of mind. Retrospection was the cutting blade; it separated grey matter in the brain, and disturbed glial homeostasis. Hindsight was a bitter-word vessel, holding twisted truth for Minerva. And Lethe was not an option. Moves had been made; the final hand laid. It had come to pass that Master and Apprentice would soon reside on opposite sides; one with _Order_, and the other with the imbibers of Death. Rewind was also not an option. And yet, _if-only_-regrets still peppered a mentor's mind and salted guilt's keen sting. McGonagall understood now: Bellatrix had perceived the _light_ (perceived order) as rejecting of her shadows. And so she had become her own gleeful Night; a paradox personified by control and discord. It all wrapped together; Bella's hearts…Bella's darks. Extinguishing lights. Screwed lights. Starring suns. Oranges. Masters. These allusions still mystified the academic and remained gaping crevices in the Bella-jigsaw. Presently, despite the iron roles they had been cast to play, Minerva held close the bloodied form on the floor. The connotation of Bellatrix's word struck Minerva _ad nauseum_ as vile bile. _**Rape**__. _A childhood lost, an innocence dishonored. Roaring, nails pierced her heart and rusted. Anger branded tartan. It flourished reds at the evil that had dared defile her Bel— student.

_'How to save, when she's swung dark out of the light? But perhaps, there's hope still...' _Wishful or not, this thought was hers.

The silence broke, though their broken huddle did not. Bella released suddenly; both the cracking cackle-sob and her clutched lifeline on Minerva's plait. The two sat, strewn amidst the destruction: Master, bewildered and adrift, and Apprentice, weak from blood loss. Dead weight in an academic's arm. The professor shook with physical exertion; the labored attempt to elevate the girl, with the single arm. Minerva's other was tasked still, desperately; it pressed upon Bella's self-infliction, over that imbrued and bloodied bust. But somehow, McGonagall managed to haul her apprentice upright. They collided, a floor-bound embrace. Another circumstance and it might have construed a one-armed hug. But the tattletale loll of Bella's head flopped onto the witch's shoulder and told otherwise. As did the blood trickling between Minerva's fingers. Plum-dark, in the moon-shot room, it smelt of a sanguine vintage and was the metallic sheen on air.

"Bellatrix, why…" Minerva's throat broke sentiments. "W_hy_ didn't you come to me. I could have hel—"

In her ear, Bella rang out the Night in terrible laugh and spoke fragments, deliberate and rasped.

"Ancient blood can't be helped; no help for _that_…don't you understand? Me, Meda-(was)-_ours_, and _then_ Cissy. Understand? Of courssssse not. Oh, but you _will_.I willed. I vowed. For them both, for Cissa-mine." A half-strangled giggle; it _teetered_ on cliffs of sanity. More to herself than to McGonagall, unsound Bells sing-songed. "Taaaake the rape, to save the _grapes_…"

Tear-sprung and fury-wrung, the professor thought the woman nearly deranged, lost to delirium. But then…a _totter_. And Bellatrix refocused somewhat (upon more salient realities) and hissed purposefully to Minerva's ear.

"I will _teach _you. Teach you _Black_."

A budge upon Minerva's shoulder. An apparent and scintilla strength that her student regained from unknown reservoir. Sensing the something, Minerva allowed the hard-earned embrace to loosen (albeit only slightly). The intentional shift permitted them visual regard. Heavily lidded-eyes revealed pupils, haunted in dilation. Within their ghosting depths, Professor McGonagall swore she saw images of little sense and disconnect; ravine swings and grapevines. But then Bella continued back into rasp and the world split like a melon.

"The blood that weeps through your fingers, it's _**Black**_. Do you understand?" Minerva was silent because she didn't. A hand, pale in elegance, reached up to cover her own, and the two clasped together in the dark and shared a wound's bloodbath. "_It_ has mind of its own; a pull. It can be tempered for a time, perhaps. But _denied_? _Never_ denied."

Hands still clasped, the dark witch whispered family secrets. They were never meant to pass beyond those of similar bloodbond.

"_Toujours pur, toujours Noir. Révéler est savior; _Always pure, always _Black_. To reveal is to know."

With ancient words spoken, Bellatrix revealed the Black House _bloodrite_. To speak this was a direct betrayal of her heritage, of blood itself. But then again, she had already become the betrayer…what was one more traitorous act upon her Black soul? Minerva retched at that darkness that flowed swiftly. It burned through her veins; a nighttime cape reaching and surging. It crept into the corners of her soul and dug holes with spades; looking for more space to invade, to defile. She felt her body leave her, as foreign sights took hold and played behind her eyes as pictures that moved memories.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> R & R. I did my best with the extrapolation of the French mantra. But alas, I'm not very familiar with the French language...

**Translation:**  
><em>- Ad nauseum <em>(Latin) - Literally "to [the point of] nausea." Usually refers to something unpleasant that has continued too long or repeatedly.  
>- <em>Toujours pur, toujours Noir. Révéler est savior <em>(French) - Always pure, always Black. To reveal is to know."

(Credits:_ Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince _[Albus Dumbledore movie quote], _The Fray_ – How to Save a Life_, The Princess Bride _[for borrowed/altered mantra])


	5. 1957: First Lessons

**Author's Disclaimer: This chapter's content deals with explicit child abuse. If you know someone that is being abused, don't stay silent. **

**Author's Note I:** This post, at the strangest hour of the night. And I'm reminded that words haven't left me.

* * *

><p>A small girl, on the tail-end of eight, cowered in a dirty corner and cried out fear. She was tattered in emotion, in shivers that crawled her well-formed limbs.<p>

_[Professor McGonagall knew this a memory, though of the Pensieve sort it was not. Still the teaching, the kind heart broke off beats, at the misery cuddled to nothing but ragged tears and the stonework of a cold corner. Her mind-eye sought cause.]_

Black-haired. A lofty man; the unforgiving and sterile tree, cloaked in dark. A city of hatred skyscraped upon otherwise beautiful features. His eyes towered above her, nonchalant in cruelty.

"Again. Say it…_again_." Echoes of the unkind menaced in the room and played nightmare timbre for curls.

The child huddled her whimpers, hugged knees inward to a frail chest. Puberty remained the long-off strike. But her pureblood beauty foretold the future woman to standing sire. Folded like this, unruly curls appeared to char her ivory skin. And even amongst salting tears, the angle…the tilt of a proud jaw laid tangent to black ovals. Remnants of pride stalled her answer and her childhood presented in emotion. Cruel orbs considered the small form with disdain and hidden agendas.

"Crying is for the weak, _ma fille_…_Crucio_." As this was _not_ a monumental occasion, the flick of his wand was careless; it had happened many a time before. And so, by magical accord, the misery in the corner lifted for short moments. And then fell sickening against the bare rock bottom…in lip biting twitches.

_[Unable to intervene within this tragedy of a memory, Minerva could only grit teeth; the mental panther bared.]_

The girl's mouth remained the sealed shut, hermetic in fasten. Still, unbidden moans sounded from deep folds of throat…barely. However, the subliminal threshold had been breached. At this apparent failing, the skyscraped wizard whispered screams to her ears.

"Tsk tsk…and here I thought we'd made _progres_s. You know your mantra…perhaps solace will find you there."

Several times the child's lips parted, trembling, perhaps in attempt to speak…or scream. But amidst the pain, silence seemed the only available tongue. Wand continued to train upon the defenseless filly. As spell intensity increased, his grin was maniacal; subsequent flicks were soundless and targeted effortlessly. Apathetically. The girl was tortured until she managed words, falling from her mouth in painful stutters.

"T-ttttooujourss pur…Toujours pu—rrrr_,_" wailed out of her, bursting the last of her resolve.

The wand lingered in cast, but then lowered quite reluctantly. Robes portentous, he approached the form sprawled on stone and hissed.

"Perhaps you'd do _well_ to remember that sentiment. For should you ever again decide that _mudblood_ filth make appropriate playmates, I won't be as…_lenient_." His acid tone made clear her current pain was but a sliver of what he could inflict. No moments waited (for either silence or answer). Instead, the rough hand jerked hair-roots, dragging the exhausted girl erect before him onto staggering limbs. Though standing, her head drooped in fatigue; waist-length tendrils curled over her face, a tangled curtain. The jerk forced her chin up at him.

_[In agonizing synchrony, the professor gasped with the witch's pain. Neck tendons strained to meet rough demands. Fear, blood, dirt. They all painted the girl's face marred. The child's body was near collapse, beaten into magical and psychological submission. But suddenly, eyes. Black oil. They flashed raw-fire; a lamp lit from within. Only the split-second, but a second pregnant with pride, and the little witch threw back a rebellious strength. Minerva was privy, but it appeared that the girl's sire was not. She watched as the woman-to-be swallowed true-form and allowed this beaten child to remain for his eyes. Self-preservation. Intelligence. The girl seemed familiar. But thoughts refused to settle. And instead, they moved on. Perhaps it was comfort to Minerva, to imagine that this child retained flame, retained fight within. Because it appeared that a girl with such a sire would need it. But more curiously, it spoke to the fierce strength of the witchchild. This child. This future. This witch. This fire-starter.]_

"You are eldest, _ma Belle_. Do not make Meda succeed your place…permanently." Raven curls still gripped, Black eyes bore threats into existence.

_[Before they gave way to fear, Minerva noted the narrowing of young eyes, subtle. Her own in emerald drew. To the small clenched fists, gripping dirtied and sweat-ridden robes. 'Odd,' she thought. Strange foreboding coated her mind. 'Was that fear…or restraint?']_

"I'm sorry, _Papa_, it will'na happen again." The child whispered placidly, voice rasping bodily pain. And eyes dropped to her scuffed shoes.

Pain lessened (albeit only slightly), as the large hand yielded its grip (a tad) upon curled roots. Her knees buckled way, swayed, for short moments. But then steady became her. Dark eyes knew better than to cringe as her sire's other hand, wand still palmed, grazed her cheek in threatening knuckle. His accompanying words fluctuated between truth and mockery.

"After all, you wouldn't want to leave your sisters without yourself, without their _beloved _star-charting guide."

The child's eyes remained ground-cast, appropriately dulled.

_[But McGonagall (despite the girl's capitulation) detected the smallest lip curl. So small, that in his diatribe, the monster noticed it not. She had a nasty nasty sense…]_

"I know your ringing heart, the silly _belle _you are. _Ci-Ci_…"

If his tone of glee was any indication, he seemed to enjoy the last word too much. The snaking _S_-phonemes snapped firing eyes upward, blazing true fear and anguish upon the angled face. The child's lips trembled, full in agony and preemptive compliance.

_[The mouth slid to frowning déjà vu, one she couldn't yet place. A soubriquet, Minerva supposed. Her heart pulled at the terror, patinaed on the youth's face. She could only ascertain that it was fear for another. As it seemed that the girl was quite adept at managing, and manipulating her own.]_

"Do better, Eldest, or I'll double her lessons."

_[The threat, the professor knew, was not idle. And the child apparently agreed; so swift were her nods. Then, a motion suddenly most familiar to Minerva…]_

Eyes shone as nightlights; obsidian readily met the tall man with arrogance. The girl was a sight to behold, bloodied and exhausted, her protective pride rampaging through. A reply sincere. Careful. But haughty in undertone.

"_Papa_, there's no reason to punish them, either of them…but _especially_ Ci-Ci. Not when the punishment is mine and _mine_ alone."

A macabre chuckle graced her eardrum. And those knuckles stroked unknown plans across her angled brain, before dropping. He twirled his wand thoughtfully, cruel in smirk.

"Oh, but you must see, _ma belle_. I know that when they hurt, especially when your youngest hurts…I _am_ punishing you." Papa released the last of her matted hair and caressed her face gently. **SMACKKKK. **Only to slap it harshly. Forcefully, it echoed in the room; ricochets of terrible lessons taught.

_[Minerva was prisoner; she could only watch (helpless the spectator) as a large handprint formed, stark on a pale cheek.]_

The child's eyes watered in pain, terror…shame even. Her bottom lip trembled something awful, but neither sound nor tear released. The formidable man in dark robes smiled suddenly; the only bright spot he offered. Promptly, he kissed black curls (similar to his own) in praise. The girl flinched at the initial touch. But then relaxed into his embrace, a tentative smile grazing her features.

"Ah, _ma Belle_, you grow stronger. But remember: to show _emotion_, to show _love_…it is weak." This lesson was clearly drilled; meant to pound brain into ground, washed and remolded. "You are Black! Never cry; Blacks are not weak. Nor do they have room for such thing. You'll _thank _me one day for this." He consulted himself, and concluded, "Today's lesson is done."

At the last utterance, the child's entire body seemed to relax. The pale child, painted in abuse, placed a small hand in her Papa's, trustingly.

"I did good, _Papa_?"

_[Minerva could see that child was bloodied…bruised to horrific points. She shuddered. There was an earnest look in the child's eyes despite the hidden fire, and the growing seeds of rebellion…manipulation. Still, the chit was the child, desperately seeking to please her father. As children so often do.]_

"_Ma Belle_, you did…_better_. Still, you have much to improve. Two seasons your younger and your Cissy has better mastered her emotions."Even compliment was backhanded, cold and slapped.

The child's face fell pitifully. Though downcast, her hair hid it from sire, lest he should beat her for this weakness.

_[Minerva's mind finally clicked and reeled; spinning awful. But she barely had time to process the battered child as Bellatrix, before she was thrown through to the next memory.]_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note II:<strong> R & R please. Writing Cygnus is both morally disgusting and the best kind of literal challenge.

**Translation:  
><strong>- B_elle _(French) - Beautiful, fair, lovely one.  
>- D<em>éjà vu (French) -<em> Literally, "already seen." The phenomenon of having a strong sensation that an event or experience (currently being experienced) has been experienced in the past, whether it has actually happened or not.  
>- M<em>a fille<em> (French) - My girl, my daughter.  
>-<em> Toujours pur<em> (French) - Always pure.


	6. 1960, 1963: Stellar are the Sisters

**Author's Disclaimer: Chapter contains mentions of incest. Going forward I will no longer be including individual chapter disclaimers, unless there are extreme trigger warnings. Assume the main story disclaimer applies to all future chapters. **

* * *

><p><em>[The scene changed and swirled to settle, the mist unhinging Minerva. It was stark, this jump through time, though not anachronistic in sorting. Chronology was linear, yet the unnerved was Minerva…at this sudden wrinkle in time. She, the tesseract traveler, and Bella, the unnamable dimension.]<em>

Atop a sizeable flat rock, an older Bellatrix Black now sat; sullen the passerby to a wide stream. The ravine, a narrow scepter. And Black, the crowing queen. Fingertips caressed worn stone as jewel in court. Hard grains had aged fine, tumbled smooth by elements and royal hands. In touch, Bella praised the rock, absorbing its emotionlessness…cool in bliss. She embraced it as old friend _survival_. It was tangible.

It existed.

The rock…_was_.

The rock recalled.

* * *

><p><em>Summer 1960.<em>

_[In the winkle within a wrinkle, Minerva felt flattened and two-dimensional. Spacetime continuums apparently had little space, no regard for human capacity, and no wiggle-room for the thinking brain. She played stagnant; she was not, even if the rock was. Yet the memory became her.] _

The boulder missed innocence of ago. Hands of pretend once claimed it their fourth playmate (the cooking-rock, suitable for the most delectable of imaginary banquets). The rock had remained as it was, for a rock it was: stolid in stone. But its human kin stretched their bones…and burgeoned. Adolescence beckoned on the horizon. Thus, the boulder left culinary arts behind, and became the star-watching rock. Their lighthouse beacon; their marker. And when night was right and sneak-away was friend, by the light of sister moon, two Black children relished themselves in the sky, awed hands tracing constellations therein. The third was the flickering ray at dawn…the tagalong admirer, ostracized by a virtue named. Her face played mirror to moonbeams; the insecure reflection of daytime suns. Many years later, the youngest would remember (as would the boulder) a solar salience; a particular night of stargazing. The stars were young. Cissa still the innocent; the nimble nine. Bella tricks to her name, ran eleven. Meda was but one of the fleet; a sister-ship, happily mediumed and middled. The charmed sisters were cubed in their trifecta, and lay upon damp grass in the timeless dark. The Black flagship, Bella (dual the protector) flanked by Meda and Cissy. Her dress billowed brawn in the breeze; sails, pulling them though stellar seas. Moments moved, and the evening star ignited green. It blew the sailing mind wayward, the middle peaceful, and the admiring sorrowed. The third mind fidgeted, with body to follow. Serendipitous Cissy and her arm brushed cooled flesh, not her own. Skin singed in dissonance.

At the perturbation, Bellatrix shifted (hair-triggered rustles) and proceeded to yank out a clump of grass, much to nature's glaring discontent. (And Meda's disdaining scoff.) Too shrewd, eyes glowed coal in the pitch. Bella pulled, plucked out tender — from her vault came Black banknotes for the youngest sister. Squirreled away — reserved and sparse — Bellatrix tendered a reservoir (a tender reservoir) for the blonde. A munificent monopoly. Hands played upon Cissy as young sisters often do, but as Blacks do never. Alabaster fingers (deft in dexterity), twirled tresses…golden by day, hues removed by night. In sisterly fondness, dancing hands idled in the gathers of Cissy's night-robes. Folds that brushed the grass, arming the blonde with mixed fibers. There, they calculated Bella's thoughts, omniscient in waiting. Forever, Bella knew, Narcissa couldn't skirt in her night-skirt. Coals glowed; celestial Auroras, and Bellatrix regarded the unnerved sky beneath her Boreal touch. Cissy's breathe caught in the zephyr and winded her.

_In the absence of a place to be  
>She lies there looking back at me<br>Calculates, and then turns away_

"Look! There's Sirius, Regulus too." Honey broke into the gust as light tune.

Meda's voice whispered disobedient paradise, clanging Linnets in Narcissa's ears. It wasn't a new sentiment, simply them…them Blacks. The sky-bound, or rather, the sky-free. All but Cissy. Narcissa wondered, _'How heinous a fetal crime must be, committed in thy mother's womb? For Black parents have resigned thee, a Black child, to an exile earthly. And denied her a star.'_ Quite suddenly, several weeks' worth of rumination burst culmination through her frontal lobe. Although dynamic constellations, such neuronal connections were not restitution for the absence of a stellar twin. It cracked Cissy's countenance, broke her from Black cousins, and split her from sister-witches. And above all, it denied her denotation, denied name. She was the unnamed; the flaccid flower. And so, silver became Narcissa's cheeks, shining melancholy in drips of moontears. Moon-coated, she gazed, sky-tilted. Soft, in fuzzied lights, the Andromendas suited each other well enough. (Ironies of the woman chained…still yet to come.) If the middle sister found concord in her constellation's tender regard, then earthbound Bellatrix burned as brilliant as her sky-flung warrior. And the flower, bound only to earth, wilted in the sun's looking glass. Bella changed so suddenly (just like Mercury) and pulled Cissy closer; her lithe arms, planetary rings. Black curls, all around Narcissa then; tendrils of the night wind playing amongst their star-lore. They blew gently through the hole in her system, which lacked solar. She felt warmth, a hearth building.

_We laid our heads back on the ground  
>I offered up my best defense<br>But she let her hair spill all around me  
>And knew my innocence<em>

Gravity, and Narcissa couldn't ignore pupil-planets as they turned to her. They bore the beginnings of a new constellation; a galaxy striking into existence. The bang that whimpered.

_Oh, this is how it starts, lightning strikes the heart  
>It goes off like a gun, brighter than the sun<em>

Then, the pad of Bella's thumb (the smallest of embraces). Nothing spectacular, only stellar. She eased a drop of Jupiter, one of several orbiting the silent slopes of Cissy's face. Upon Bella's finger, the tear collected and grew heavy. It fell away to the grass (as did the earth) when Bella haunted song nonchalantly. In whisper, she assuaged the unspokens of her youngest.

_"Doubt thou the stars are fire; doubt thou the sun doth move; doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt…"_

The grass still strummed dewy echoes. But Bella's last sentiment fell away to hush; her profound always did. (Cissy wouldn't know the end of this particular stanza for years to come.) Bellatrix needed no wand to stun. And in the youngest's eyes, the silver leaf begat not only from tears. Nor were Bella's burning coals fully attributed to the night mystics.

_'I love.'_

"What is this, Cissy? Doubt that you shine brighter than us all? Silly twit, I wanted to name you _Sonne_, after that sunning Sol of mi—yours." Bellatrix lifted her sister's chin, and pierced pale irises with intent.

Silence reigned, impregnated with star-stuff. Cissy had no counts for confusion. Awkward had no time in their space, as Bella attempted to soothe further, with cheer. They continued in their universe. Meda continued close, but _aeons_ away.

"But noooo, Mummy had to go with _Narcissa_." Still the private whisper, Bellatrix scoffed haughtily, burning Cissy's gaze. Rasps continued in sarcastic mirth. "Still, I _maintain _they must have misheard my superior suggestion. I suppose, it was hard to hear above all that ruckus…Maman's yowling, Papa's yelling, and that ninny-of-midwife's badgering."

Tears transitioned into moonbeam reflections, as Cissy giggled. The idea of prim Druella making any sound other than proper, was amusing to say the least. And the cerebral image: toddler-Bellatrix. Curl obnoxious, stubborn, and stomping in an indignant-sister-naming-rampage…midway through Druella's birthing process? It was uncouth. Completely mental. It was quintessentially Bella, and quite the pleasing image indeed. Another giggle from Narcissa, followed by a lingering hiccup; the only remains of upset. Lazily, Bellatrix twirled blonde strands; gold coinage flipped between her fingers. Pirate captain, she sailed.

"If you've noticed, all's not lost, love. After all, coming from the mouth of babes, _Sunny_ sounds quite similar to _Ci-Ci_. And such became Cissy. The latter stuck." Bella crooked a half-grin, and girlishly giggled (one of her last). Illuminated by the man of the moon, the witch's laugh gave way to trademark smirk.

Cissy's heart leapt at the peculiar feeling Bella always evoked within; the intensity of a thousand solstice nights. Child in heart, Narcissa leaned forward to bestow a _Patronus kiss_ upon Bella's nose. Glad for their sister-bond, small hands cupped her eldest's face and happily nuzzled. Cissy expected Bella's usual after their heart-to-hearts; the eye roll of fond annoyance. It would signal Bellatrix's return to her caustic normal. And yet, this time played anomaly: Bella didn't pull away. Their noses grazed still. And sister mirth stopped starkly, as the air between burned oddly. Star-stuff roasted for half a moment longer, with loading foreshadows of grey. Cissy's skin cooled as the smolder source pulled away. Their eyes met with more than gravity. And celestial, Bella's lit with sudden awareness. Surprise even. Narcissa could not name the change found in Twaining depths, but she Marked it.

_She is a victim of her own responses  
>Shackled to a heart that wants to settle, and then runs away<em>

Cissy probed curiosity at her sister, but knew that Bella's mind stretched taut as a drum, and would reveal nothing of its innards. Bellatrix's lip quirked strangely, noting the moment...noting a profound personal revelation. But charcoal eyes cautioned with purple, warning Cissy to leave it well enough alone. And so neither remarked upon it.

"Tell you what, Cissy." Bella seriously jested, before pecking a porcelain cheek in promise (returning them to equilibrium). "Should the need call, I'll hex our family for you when I'm grown." None recognized the feel of accidental magic, answering Bella's heartfelt promise with an oath. Not even Andromeda, several feet away. Granted, Meda had been also oblivious to the exchange between her two sisters. Bella's tone changed. (Later, Cissa would think it as sailing across the sun.)

"Besides, moot is the point (as you've been saddled with a vain flower, apparently). But nevertheless, you're our Cissy. And sunny Narcissa, my Cissa-mine, you'll stay."

_And stay beside me where I lie_

Too young to truly internalize the entire sentiment of their exchange, Cissa (no longer just Cissy) merely snuggled into the warmth of her older sister. With a small grin, she did not protest the noogie, which fondly knuckled her locks into muss. Tucked against Bella's chest, beneath that chin, Cissa was not astonished when suddenly her system blazed solar. Such was Bellatrix. And such was Narcissa. The stellar feeling never left.

_She's entwined in me— crazy as can be  
>She's all right— she's all right with me<br>And this is the end  
>This is the end of the innocence<em>

* * *

><p><em>August 1963.<em>

The rock recalled.

The rock was.

And Bellatrix was atop the rock, looking rather the sullen and disenchanted mermaid, indeed.

_[Mentality reinflated somewhat, as Minerva's mind permitted three-dimensionality back into its decompressed quarters.]_

Already the child's features had begun to mature into striking beauty. Thunder eyes struck stark against porcelain skin (though careful black ringlets were sullen). Beauty was further made salient by features loosing childhood roundness. Angles had begun to cut her jaw and collarbones into grace; lightning spikes. The day was overcast. And her dress (a midnight blue variety) was much too ornate for a fifteen-year-old.

_['No. Fourteen.' It was the hair that helped McGonagall determine. (Free from maternal spelldom, it had curled wild at Hogwarts. But this rock-creature was a pre-school Bella. One under-thumb or at least the illusion of.) Minerva was well aware that Bellatrix was older than most her cohort. The girl was a winter bairn without question and December had summer months to kill first.]_

In apparent disregard of the fine garment, a silk sleeve bunched up slightly, forming an accidental gather not natural in the fabric.

_[Minerva angered at faded bruises revealed. The pale saffron loiterers, unwelcomed stains upon a pale wrist.]_

In the background, an elaborate manor could be seen, Gothic the opera painted against the glooming sky of Wiltshire. This area was notorious for old wizarding families, pure in blood and might. Especially those of the Sacred Twenty-Eight with French origins. For centuries, many a generation of Blacks, Lestranges, Malfoys, Prewetts, and Rosiers had dwelled in the Country of the Wilts. Though on the chalk downlands neighbors were far and few between. _Manor Noir_, then, was the Black aria. An isolated island in a rolling-land sea. But upon the star-watching rock, no waters lapped, no song Belled. And despite the wet climate, to Bellatrix, it was drought. A jaded prison, where water deserted and thirst reigned. To those in the know, pale hands clutched a familiar sight of parchment: a missive bearing the red _Hogwarts_ seal in wax.

_[Minerva bemused, as Bellatrix held the letter limply (and was not eager the opener). The professor understood not the forlorn expression that graced the features of her future pupil.]_

Soft footsteps echoed in the ravine valley. Another girl came into sight, into Bella's court. This child also, too elaborately dressed for a late summer's day. She was slightly younger, a softer likeness of the elder perhaps by a year or so. Whereas Bellatrix was stark, the other was softly understated; mellow curls framed a gentle face with chestnut. The two were sisters, unmistakably. The younger perched on the flat rock beside her brooding sibling; the linnet by the crow on their ship's flagstaff. She waited with uplifted patience, oddly calm and practiced for her youth. A smooth sailor on rough seas.

_[Another besides Bellatrix and Minerva might have grown restless. Half a candlemark passed in silent fashion. But Bella was Bella. And though soundless it was, the adolescent's face cycled through poignant expression: absolute bliss, terrific trepidation, paining guilt, derelict duty, adoration…abhorrence. The better emote, Minerva thought she'd not find. It astounded the Transfiguration Master. As to her, Bellatrix was never the open clam-heart, only the rare and peeking pearl. Irritating sand and all.]_

The sister allowed the displayed emotion with ease, knowing its paucity, its worth…and its eventual culmination.

"_Andy._" Bellatrix sighed thickly, rasping her frustrated being. With hearty affection, Bella laid her curled mane upon Meda's shoulder. In a gesture much too maternal for the adolescent, Andromeda Black fondly smoothed back wayward curls that fell into Bella's eyes.

_[It was curious, Minerva decided, how names signaled paradigm shifts. Sunny Ci-Ci had become Cissy. Only to settle celestially, upon Cissa. And Andromeda. No longer was she solely the child Meda. But also, the added adolescence of Andy. And in stately times, Andromeda.] _

"You ought open it, Bells…such contents will'na magically alter themselves." Andy/Meda asserted with droll levity.

Bellatrix looked to her sister and rolled her eyes. Instead, she lazily handed Andromeda the letter. Without further comment, Meda took it. And Bella looked away, scoffing, as her sister broke open the seal. Wax crumbled into red bits and speckled the rock bloodied. Bella's hands pressed the fragments into the hard. Pushing and scraping discontent. Andy pretended to ignore the rough gestures, as they mingled a different red there. Andy read aloud.

"September 1st."

Bella scoffed.

"Less than a fortnight," was the honeyed comment. It waggled knowledge with prodding tone.

"I know," Bellatrix responded flatly. "You tell me the already known. All the wizarding world knows _that_, as do I. _Last _year's letter said much the same. Don't play mudblood broken record; it's unbecoming of you, Andy."

_[The derogatory slur so easily thrown. And the professor hermetically pursed her lips. Oh yes…Minerva remembered "last year." And how.]_

* * *

><p><em>Monsieur Cygnus Black adhered staunchly to the pureblood traditions of old. Offspring of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, the sanguinely pure, were privately trained. Tutored, until the age of fourteen. (For Minerva, the memory of one such private lesson replayed and played lingerer. Bellatrix had chosen well to showcase that one, as it was the epitome of her childhood. Pollution of oil eyes, huddled and cornered.) Ire stabbed the professor's gut in nauseating wambles. Shivers wracked the mind, and gooseflesh recalled the soul-cold that Manor Noir induced. <em>

_'Such a sterile and crushing place for a bairn to grow…Or rather wilt.' she thought._

_The tête-à-tête. Well, it had been a most colorful exchange with that wall of man, that patriarch deluded. The professor winced, recalling the fierce row that had ensued between the Black head and herself. (Afterwards, she had rather rudely informed Albus that he could deal personally with the more thorny cases himself.) Emotional magic had sparked the air with ozone. On Cygnus' part it had filled with illogical pureblood premises, ill disguised as parental concern and verbal threats (ones anything but idle). The professor herself had been hard pressed to control her itching wand, and not hex the massive man sideways for his prejudices and idiocy. But most of all, Minerva recalled glittering eyes, stones sparking in an otherwise dull realm. And liquid as beetle juice, they were wide with empty, peeking down the stairwell at her._

_Private training her Scottish arse. _

_'More likely thorough indoctrination and terror!' The Gryffindor Head had wryly snarked this with disdain, to Albus, at the time. Training, was a kernel of truth to find in a rotting cob. And thus, each of the Black children (Bellatrix being the first of this star-crossed generation) started formal education at Hogwarts in their fourteenth year._

* * *

><p>Andy continued perusing the letter, ignoring Bella's normal acerbity, as the latter-named scoffed and crossed legs in apparent aggravation. But during the limb jostle, before she could curb it, a light hiss escaped through Bella's teeth; a smoking signal fire. Too knowingly, Andy glanced at her sister with concern. Under a midnight sleeve, the flash of violent violet caught like a fly and trapped in honeyed eyes. Unexpectedly, Andromeda grasped Bella's right wrist, and firmly pulled up the sleeve…elbow high. Indignantly in pain, Bellatrix snarled antagonism.<p>

_[Minerva gasped at the sudden exposure; black and purple bruising. The terrible kind, which only resulted from snapped bones. It seaweeded around her protégé's flesh, clinging, too familiar the visitor.] _

"Oh, _Bellatrix_," Andromeda whispered. "He bro— why didn't you fix it?!"

"I **tripped**, Andy." Coal eyes were thunder hard and Andromeda said nothing at the obvious lie. With a huff, Bella also offered, "Don't be thick the pudding, Meda; 'tis my better casting arm, otherwise I would've fixed it yesterday."

Andy raised an eyebrow (a kinder rendition of a Bella trademark). She flexed her hands, wiggling digits in apparent warm-up. Bellatrix continued in sarcastic rant.

"I'd rather _not_ blow myself up accidentally. Really, Andy, you seem to think me a daft and waterlogged ninny." And yet, despite her harangue, Bellatrix pointedly mentioned not the preemptive position Andy's hands took up.

_[In action, Andromeda Black dumbfounded Minerva, and not due to her disregard of Bella's diatribe. (Minerva wryly surmised this to be normal interaction.) This…Meda: still too young to enroll in Hogwarts (by Black standards) and no other formal education. And yet, the witchchild effortlessly floated hands over her sister's mangled arm and murmured in magical chant.]_

"_Brackium Emendo_." Ignoring her sister's rant, Andromeda whispered wandlessly.

The arm glowed white the bright for moments, the initial cast. And then with a sickening crack (and a wince of pain from Bellatrix) the bone reset into proper place. A long pause as Andy's hands remained, hovered. Their glow segued to blue, further healing the break. When hands finally removed, only several faded bruises lingered. (Yellowed brothers, siblings to the wrist on the other arm.) Flexing her mended limb, the witch tested its movement accordingly. Andromeda's sigh of relief broke Bellatrix's approval. The softness of Bella's hand, supine, grazed her sister's cheek. Fond lips thanked a temple lightly.

"Why, Meda, you've _improved_." Bellatrix spoke with gleeful approbation. Ironically, dark eyes glinted in the slash of sunlight breaking through murky clouds.

Rich lashes fluttered shut. Lids closed in concentration. And in a beautiful flourish, the healed-arm twisted by the wrist, with fingers to follow into a light fist. Palm up, it opened toward Meda, revealing a black Lily (still growing at an alarmingly rapid rate). As it burgeoned…dazzles in honey. Andromeda plucked the gift from its sinewy soil; it held her spellbound. Bella's cocky smirk softened to affection, as she beheld the moon in her sister's eyes.

_[Like Andromeda, the professor's mind filled with wonderment at the intricately crafted magic, far more impressive and advanced than the first. Her untrained student-to-be was most talented indeed.]_

"Pristine as new, Andy." Bella indicated the wandless flower as her casting strength, and dark eyes glinted bits of humor at Meda's agape expression. The black Lily appeared to have blossomed in full; it no longer morphed at time-lapsed speed. With deft fingers, Bellatrix swiftly picked the flower from her sister's worshiping hand. She wove it through Andy's chestnut curls, to rest above an ear. Much like Bella's thanks, it shimmered in the purples of subtlety there, implicit and understood. Meda's eyes fleetingly twinkled gold in unspoken emotion. But the dew quickly settled back, into the darks of honeyed waters.

"I fear have had far too much _practice_ on you, Bellatrix Black." It was an admonishment, a worry. The statement hung between them. Bella said nothing and turned away. Abruptly, Andy attempted to break the awkward, and failed. "Bells…tell me. Why did you spend a month _warding_ my and Cissa's chambers?"

At non sequitur, however, Bellatrix's eyes became wide and flashed. Then a flat expression _[one annoyingly familiar to Minerva]_ took hold as Bella turned to her sister. Not fooled, Andromeda continued.

"Spare her, and tell me. Save naivety for our Cissy, Bella. She's twelve and still the innocent. Besides, I know of you; that which she doesn't. Tell me."

The Bella-woman-child rose precipitously.

"Remember, when all is said, you asked for such knowledge." Bellatrix stood, facing away from her sister. Perhaps to hide the emotions ruling her face.

_[In the subtle curves that shaped her frame, Minerva could see heavy traces of adolescence.] _

"After I'm gone to Hogwarts, I cannot be here to play sister to you and Cissa. No protection, do you _understand_ me Andy?" (Meda's eyes, her frame, they trembled whirlpools.) "Warding will at the very least keep your vir— physical innocence safe, within your own quarters…" Bellatrix trailed off softly. Darkly.

"Bella, you— he hasn't…oh he _has_!" Andy expelled and cried out. She ran to embrace her impassive sister. Ever the elder, Bellatrix caught the frantic charge. She stroked hair, the shoring comfort as Meda husked misery. Beside herself, Meda whispered into curls. "How could you let him…_again_?! You must tell Maman. You must, you must, you mu—"

"Let him? As if he heeds others." Bellatrix chuckled; derisive scoffs. "And tell her what, exactly, Andy? That rather than wife, he prefers **_daughter _**as bed warmer? You know as well as I do: 'tis the Black way and part of my…_training_. And training is Black tradition."

For her part, Andromeda looked thoroughly horrified amongst tears.

_[Professor McGonagall, too, felt abysmally sickened. She retched at the explicit connotation. And the mind wandered, flailing mad: a father, their sire…to his own children?! Children, they were but children. But such thoughts of simple and innocent children were complicated, altered, by the next moment.]_

Andy sobbed broken shells, pricking the darker sister's chest. And yet Bella loosened her embrace; the pale hand tipped the girl's face upward. From Andy's tear-hot face, the witch smoothed (soothed) back chestnut waves. And then tide drew in. It pulled in the storm, even if moon reflections were the deeper undercurrent. Blood; the torrential downpour. For now, it washed out the sleeping sunshine. Tiding wave. The ravine queen pressed her face against Andy's and brushed their lips lightly. _Almost _demurely. Eye of the storm. And immediately, Andromeda relaxed into her embrace, though tears still ran sizzling, albeit silently. Their foreheads connected in lean, as Bellatrix broke the light touch with a short breath. Wave. Only to lean in once more; a second brushing of lips. It _might _have been chaste, had Bellatrix's lips not lingered against her sister's. Had Andy not been eager and ever so slightly parted Bella's lips further_. _

_[Minerva felt the rush. Binding love poured dark between the two. It popped loudly in blood; jellyfish stings, painful in requirement. Though the taboo act itself was most unsettling, the professor was privy the insider. In veins, she felt their attraction simmer; a precarious potion seething. Their blood tied them to each other in the Blackest of loves, that of siblings and storming waters bubbling in brew.]_

Bellatrix pulled away to peck her sister's forehead. Andromeda had quieted with the intimate embrace. And then with too much understanding, she whispered against Andy's head.

"Then again, I suspect the world _should _condemn us for other Black _traditions_. Ones that pull our blood, deary…as none of us can deny what the blood wants."

_[It was clear to Minerva that Bella referred to their…affections. From Andromeda's uncomfortable and troubled expression, it was also apparent that this was not a subject spoken about. Aloud, that is.] _

But Bellatrix moved on, along. She the undamable ocean-tide, the anti-Lethe. She, sister fate Clotho, spun the story of three threads.

"As Black lore dictates: "_If daughter of thee is of three," _then as eldest I will inherit the bloodrite strongest when I come of age. Narcissa, the youngest, next."

At these words Meda embraced Bellatrix tightly, fearing the final sentiment (intrinsically known, but never more salient). Salted tears whet Bella's expensive dress and wet the air with tension. The witch cradled Meda's head, twirling a chestnut curl about her finger. Idly in measure, she allotted Andy's life-thread. Almost kindly, with some resentment, Bellatrix continued and spoke the spindle prick, a scissor cut aloud.

"M— our Cissa, has a few seasons yet 'til her quickening. But, my dear Andromeda, you alone knowI feel its inklings already. But as for you sister, gentle Meda, you may not inherit as we do at'all."

At this, Andy's tears ran to sobbing floods as the storm clouds broke silver linings. They fell like stars, stellar in death. Bellatrix held her closer still and let rampaging rains run upon her. She hummed eerily.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> R & R, and let us see who among us are most loyal.

**Translation:**  
>- A<em>eon<em> (Latin) - The British/Australian spelling for _eon. _Refers to an indefinite and very long period of time. Other similar meanings include: age, era, forever, lifetime, or eternity. Originates from the Greek word _aion_ which was then transliterated into Latin.  
>- M<em>aman<em> (French) - Mama, mom, or mommy.  
>- M<em>onsieur<em> (French) - A customary French title of respect; a term of address for a French-speaking man. Corresponds to the English title of Mr. or sir.  
>-<em> Noir<em> (French) - Black.  
>- T<em>ête-à-tête<em> (French) - Literally "head-to-head." Refers to a private conversation or happening between two people.

**Footnotes:**  
><em>- Patronus Kiss - <em>This I imagine to be kin of a Muggle _Eskimo Kiss_; the kind children use to seal pacts sometimes…or to impart love or friendship.  
>- Hamlet quote (<em>Doubt thou the stars are fire) - <em>Imagine Bella singing this to the tune used in Emilie Autumn's _Opheliac_. Though perhaps much less emo/screamo and more in the style of Nellie Lovett's haunting refrain ("Toby…Toby where are you, love?").

(Credits: _Colbie Caillat_ – Brighter Than The Sun, _Counting Crows_ – Mercury, _Don Henley_ – The End of Innocence, _Emilie Autumn_ – Opheliac, _Madeleine L'Engle_ – A Wrinkle in Time; A Swiftly Tilting Planet, _Train_ – Drops of Jupiter, _T.S. Eliot_ – The Hollow Men, _William Shakespeare_ - Hamlet)


	7. 1965, 1967: Supposed Sorts & Shatters

_September 1965._

Non-conformity. Witty female tongue. And Bellatrix was the strange youth addition to high society, to the Blacks. Outwardly, she played the culture game…a bare just. In truth, under polished surfaces, Bellatrix was gleeful roulette; the brilliant Black creature, spun by uncharted chance and taboo gambles. Had she been a wayward spell, with chance of controllability, perhaps guised philanthropic eyes would have followed, and basted her with fawning pity. Conceivably, they would have gossiped in not so hidden circles, with not so hidden voices. However, if anything, the eldest Black daughter was a controlled chaos incarnate. Thus, Bellatrix remained reigning on the fringe of acceptance (where she reveled). And the wizarding world both abhorred and adored her for it.

To Hogwarts she was a full throttle implosive explosion; an intriguing brilliance that shot nightlights as splinters in all collapsing directions. And a brilliance that a Transfiguration Master couldn't not train. Still, to her sisters (heredity insiders), she remained but Bella. Sisters knew her (best) bests and worsts. Andy: because Bellatrix let her. And Cissa: because Bella couldn't help it. Still the mystified, Narcissa couldn't isolate the exact moment; when the Bella-sister she knew thoroughly through, and the Bellatrix Black that society idol-eschewed…merged. But salience of Bella's duel nature developed in full and satiated for Cissa upon her own Sorting.

* * *

><p><em>August 1965.<em>

The summer before Cissa's Sorting, grueling days for the charmed-less were filled with prison-hours of homeschooling. Feats such as wandless magic were weighted equal to memorization of pureblood ancestry. Bellatrix's least favorite word in the English language developed from Malfoy into "genogram." She decided both were prat-ish. Despite the militant study schedule, academic escape from atrocious could be found stacked in the Black Annals. (Hours lost count, as three witches spent many in a massive and rather erudite library.) With content to learn, Andy was content amongst arithmancy scripts, and Cissa cured curiosity with potion pragmatics. And befitting Bella's wilderness, both held wry smiles at the ever-present hex texts in their sister's hand. Such was near to heaven. But Papa's hands-on…antics (thrice a torturous week), and such was Hell. Bellatrix's purposeful burden: the brunt of it. Perhaps it was a valiant attempt to divert Cygnus' attention. (She ensured, sought that he saved worst for her own debasement.) Or possibly, it was fuel, burning her toward a future revenge that accrued in higher piles, daily.

As it were, Cygnus had three simultaneous students all undergoing Black training. (Not surprisingly, Orion had seen fit to train the sons himself). Despite Cissa's youth, Slytherin scruples pushed her on par with Andy. Unspoken, neither sister would surpass the other; as buttresses they were the better — the better insulated. It was understood that Bella was to remain as scout…ahead. In addition, much to Bellatrix's disgust, purgatory balanced, nestled annoyingly between the empyrean and the diabolical. That is, finishing lessons with Maman as a Madame. Despite Bella's massive mortification, such ridiculum matriculated their minds as botched acupuncture. For any single sister, the steal of a day was rare. Extraordinary, were the purloined hours that all three managed, away from Black things. Then, the company of sisters three could play Orion's belt and simply be, sans responsibility. Supposedly, this was meant to be such an exceptional day. But often "supposeds" are only ever supposed, and never supplied.

This day was a rare and _almost_ extraordinary day. To the star-watching rock with her sisters, Cissa had asked return. She needed a last visitation; that last breath before growing up. At least, that's how she partitioned her mind, how she viewed entrance into Hogwarts' walls. So on this day, Black and Blonde lay side by side in their ravine grass. However, Brown was the missing. Although penitent in assurance, still Andy had made other plans to escape Manor Noir for the day. Off with some chum from school she outed (Blackened with the pureblood seal of approval, of course). And evidently, she would not break the date, not even for the likes of sisters.

Forehead furrowed and mind frowned, Cissa confused over this; Blacks never put others above...well…Blacks. And yet, neither sister truthfully blamed Meda for taking advantage of such escape route. However, both felt odd loss. And unsettlement settled, colored in strange tones. This would later be recognized as foreboding. (Bellatrix had scoffed, spouting several choice words. Crude acted her mask, sarcasm her face paint). Narcissa was disappointed at Meda's cavalier treatment of her request. After all, it was rarity for all three to possess a "freedom" day. And to use it on another seemed Blackened blasphemy. Only Bella seemed to understand Cissa's vital request in full; a rinsing refrain, a requisition for a last repeat of their ravine ritual. (Not that her eldest sister would admit this aloud.) Not that it would be the last time (Cissa assumed). But this was a marker. This marked the something. It wasn't until decades later that Cissa understood what mark they had made. As such, ever the eldest, for Cissa, Bellatrix sought to let freedom ring as only she could…Belling.

_[Minerva was the watchful again, a bodiless gaze, but in the rays she thought the urge to squint was appropriate. It was a blinding sun, a happy day she assumed. For the memory appeared light, blithe in spirits.]_

Mirrors laughed in reflection of several years before, as in like, the two lay beside one another, grass their mat. Stars had traded for sunlight, childhood for adolescence. But still, Night spoke to Day,

"You'll see, Cissy," Bella told. "It's wondrous, the Great Hall ceiling. It reflects…climate." Toes dabbled perpendicular, close enough to the icy stream to trail walks in the water, drawing ripples. Hissing (dis)pleasure and lethargy, Bellatrix hiked her dress up above the knee. Feet dunked in the chilling water, and smirked at the nippy thrill.

Head bedded against a solid shoulder. And Narcissa's brow gathered, trying to make sense of layered meanings. Bellatrix had allowed the close, the physicality, if only to make up for Andy's absence. Or so Cissa assumed. Or so Bella pretended. Neither commented on Bella's hands that played idles in sunned hair.

"Do you mean to say it mirrors? Th'actual weather outside castle walls?" Under Bella's chin, Cissa murmured in reservation, tucked. A quick think-beat and she followed-up. "Or does it reflect the inside, the emotional-whatnots? Ambiance, I suppose it could be put…" Cissa queried further, her shy-sly manner musing.

A wide grass-blade. The questioning accomplice wreaked bold tickles upon pale skin. It trailed up Bella's arm and summited a clavicle crest. The blonde held in traitorous giggles as Bellatrix twitched in surprise and arched an eyebrow. At Cissa's (dueling) probes, the witch regarded her sister with some amount of amused pride. It was unusual when anyone p(r)icked at her arms or her wording weapons of semantic fun. She allowed curious skies to meet her eyes; for them she parted clouds. Bella allowed the play. But quick as cat's claw her pinky pounced and prohibited that precarious blade of grass from further shiver travels. Waving the stolen offender in tease, Bellatrix grinned triumph.

_[S_he eyed them, the two sisters in their familial affections. _The professor couldn't clog her smile. It was gift to see her protégé cling to remnants of an innocence unrestrained. Her hackles cocked, though, at the young Black's keen mind; somehow softer than Bellatrix, but no less sharp.] _

Still a player, Cissa scowled slightly, somewhat poutish at the turn of events. Pupils spelled banter and locked. And suddenly Cissa flung forward into a scrap. Roughhousing within a cuddle, she attempted to grab the grass-blade back. But Bella's free hand tickled her waistline; skirts tangled due to furious leg grappling. Chained in arm, Blonde shrieks of giggling dismay were birds on air. Yellow hysterics accompanied flailing limbs and Bella's cussing. She let Narcissa get the jump several times, finding it her goal to elicit sunlight and dig out the peach. Though usually the jump was lost to something absurd, a noogie for instance. Finally, a lull in the game. Pinned to the ground, stomach-to-stomach, Cissa caught stuck in a firm hold against Bella's silent laughter. She smirked at the general dishevelment imparted upon her big sister. Bella's curls channeled anti-gravity, sticking up furiously in all directions. A smudge of dirt painted her cheek warred. Pinned to the ground, and violet planets sparking above, Cissa's brain bounced gleefully in game.

"Cheerio." she murmured in absurd greeting, mouth quirking at the tête-à-tête proximity.

Nose to nose, Bella's furious breath basted her face and appled cheeks took to their red name. Still, Cissa made a last jerk toward her grassy prize. Bellatrix sat up in straddle. With little effort, a firm hand to the forehead detained Cissa's flailing limbs. A snort at the ridiculousness coated the victor's sinuses. Bella's chuckle curled aloud, amused at Cissa's antics…and smirking at the flush that blushed. Still mid-mission, trying to wiggle out an advantage, there was no warning as glee segued into odd. Suddenly Narcissa was too aware, like doubled-minds were hers. It was too fast to comprehend as she burst open into starlights.

DarkLights.

As Cissa's body stiffened, Bella's smirk at victory stone-dropped. And the elder felt her blood pop smears. Though still atop Narcissa, fun flipped off (seemingly to a serious switch). The witch considered her sister. Still poised in consanguineous amusement, the forehead hand fell lax, and then away. Bellatrix rolled off, rolled them side by side. Frantically, she rummaged through the girl's expression, trying to discern threat. Plight and panicking slightly, Cissa found herself wild open to Bellatrix; internal words bared, and yet they were still unread to herself. A whimper flew out her lips, half unaccustomed to the ajar feeling. Half confused to its sense of normalcy. They faced now, hip curvatures kissing the summer ground. Pale knuckles met her porcelain and painted quick exploration; a cheek(y) picture. Bella iced the glaze and met moonjumps under skin, pulsing with new. The witch paused peculiarly in affect, curiosity her emphatic magnet. Bella's hand migrated to Cissa's hand, asking confidence. But blue eyes refused the regard, worried as it was. Afraid to render herself exposed, Narcissa avoided focus, her eyes shifting in confusion. Suspecting the underpinning to be Black, Bellatrix became excited patience and waited for her sister's steady.

_[Although concerned about the events unfolding, Professor McGonagall succumbed to egocentric tendencies. She scoffed, somewhat miffed that her student could manage lengthy focus here, but apparently not in any other venue of life (their lessons included). Bella was rather prone to tangents.]_

Long moments, as blood brewed new in veins. But steady came. And Cissa finally settled into a sister's glance. Her countenance quirked in question, her shy smile gracing.

"Is this…B—"

"Just let me."

Bella was the interrupting response. And ever the adventurer, she dove in exploration. Cissa was novel, and Bellatrix searched through a library's pages. Coal pits dug around and about, exploring origin of out. The more experienced, it was she that reached and met blood. It wasn't saffron prickles; the known whispers from Meda. It was cerulean cools. Cissa. Onto a starving soul such confirmation spilled sanguine and Bella called an experiment to reality. She called it a second-hand stroke upon her sister's mind-brow. And she pulled at a dormant stellar…loaded many years ago. In the stellar void, non-materialism befell existence. So Cissa found Bella's magic-hand by unconventional method. Odd sentience was implicit understanding and met Bellatrix's call. It looked nothing of the sort, but to Cissa it felt purple (violet perhaps). And yet no other word existed to limn Bella's aural form. Amethyst. It encouraged, subsidized. It beckoned her to stretch out, to proliferate into a new sense modality — this thing Cissa had suddenly grown. Or apparently always had…and never burgeoned. There was no word for such sense, such magical synesthesia. To call it gustation, audition, or touch would be to under-encompass its faculties. But the closest Cissa could summarize in language: her eyes smelled the reverberation of the violet, and she touched undoubtedly. She heard collectively with the amethyst sentience and knew it as Bellatrix. Her hand in Bella's, Narcissa blushed Dust as it fired shared sense home. Unwritten things wrote upon her. And sunbursting into birth, Cissa knew clarity, fully realizing her awareness of another. Words useless here, she breathed purple.

_"Bella." _And so by accident, Cissa breathed them close. And Blackrite bore another sister theirs.

_[And just like a memory under stars, the professor was the reluctant witness to another morph.] _

Out of the void, understanding was sure now. Bella purpled a proud smirk and knew Cissa (the silently tharn) to be bursting with internal questions. Bellatrix, the relieved, was elation. Her sister had _quickened_, and by the feel of it, far stronger than Andy had last year. At the latter Bella buried angst away, leaving it killed (zombie for another day). Instead murmur broke.

"Cissa."

In the sunshine of the minute, her movements purposefully slowed; Bellatrix reassured the younger. Merely, Bella stroked the girl's cheek. A proud fondness. And her whisper calmed the astounded mind of sister, assuring her sane. Thoroughly satisfied, Bellatrix basked in the found. She led the smaller witch in bond, lazily. Probing, but not invasion (so as not to hurt her untrained sister). Paled, Cissa's hand grappled for anchor upon her wrist. Bella let it.

"Trust me." She was the undertoning wind in Cissa's ear.

Bella waited for acquiescence. It came, formed as the barest of nods against her neck, huddled but eager. Protracted, she peeled back the young girl's fright; the baklava layers built up as pastry defense. With each layer of the bond bared, Bella let the girl find bearings and adjust. She bared until only the thinnest film remained. The girl clung trembles to her. So her hands calmed blonde mane, a face. And Bella pushed through barrier, chaste smile cherishing. They met fresh bond silvers, sheer. Delicate the silk wrappings and tentative the tendrils. All these, were fingertip grazes of a diaphanous hand, shy to hold another. Alien reaches. And Black recognized it familiar, yet knew them a first. The bond connection was complete. Against soothing knuckles, Narcissa sensed territory not yet understood. Tentatively, Cissa brushed back in curiosity, wiggling her fingers outward into this new shared space. An indigo answer brushed her back, prompting blood tingles.

_'So this is our Blackblood.'_ Cissa's thoughts swung incredulity.

Pulling back, Bella untangled their bloodbond and bodies. Too much too soon would begat nothing good. Still, inside, Bellatrix reveled. But to solidity and reality she brought them. Slightly slack mouthed, sprawled on her back…Narcissa stared. Exhausted from the bond, head lolled towards her darker sister, opposite her, now propped up on elbows a foot or two away. She managed her own body into a similar stance on the grass. Vexed, Cissa partially annoyed at being kept in the dark for so long. But a larger part was conscious there was no apropos manner to describe all that with words.

"You…Andy…Me?" Narcissa's speech could apparently only order pronouns successfully. Bellatrix quirked an eyebrow, but inclined her head in response. This, prompted flailed sputters of speech. "But, b-but you knew! What...how does it…when does it—"

Unceremoniously, Bella's hand clapped over her running mouth. The chit's breath resumed naturally, wordless. Amused, the darker witch shifted.

"Anyway. I believe, Cissa, you asked whether the ceiling mirrored weather or reflected emotional-whatnots."

Confused for a tick and then disbelieving, Cissy retorted.

"Seriously, Bells? Non-sequitur much? I spontaneously come into my Blackrite and you deem _now_ to speak of ceilings?" The blonde exasperated, wanting to veil her face in elbows.

"Believe me, after I inform Papa and Maman there will be plenty of talk tonight." Bella imparted, sing-songing snarkily.

That shut Narcissa up. How lovely. No doubt she'd have to deal with the resulting family atrocity for the next month until school started. Hogwarts. Sensing Cissa's renewed anxiety, over a new novel yet to write, Bellatrix reminded her bluntly.

"Some things are not meant to be told but rather explored, Cissy. Hogwarts for example. Your awareness moments ago…another." Eyes pierced, yet gentle was there. Bella smiled internally as her sister blushed under directness. Interesting. Cissa grew redder as Bellatrix's hand reached. It twirled a hair lock and trailed downward, finding neck. Bella abruptly pulled away. "Besides, blooding or not, your previous was an inquiry good, sister. And therefore it's an answer you'll not find in books, or me."

"You're a bloody mystery." Cissa grumbled in resignation. The blonde played at ruffian solider and elbow-crawled back to her sister. The moment of ago, so quick and quee— she didn't dwell. Bellatrix was known for pushing both her sisters to excel of their own volition. Granted she was always there with answers in dire pinches. Blood simmering, still Bella allowed Cissa's approach.

"Do I seem a book to you?" Bellatrix deadpanned, and lay in wait for reaction, interested in either set or rise.

A shake-scoff from the blonde cuddled again to her side. Sunrise it was.

"That's the worst pun ever!" Cissa intoned, but answered anyway. "Imagine…you. A mystery book: Bellatrix Black and the Case of the Missing Sanity. Or better yet, simply a reluctant reference: Encyclopedia-Bells."

Too innocent the tone and Bellatrix grinned at Cissa's particular brand of sarcasm: her face youthful, her manner still playful…child-like and brandishing barks. But in the back of Bella's mind, blood-daggers raised dark rapids, praying for the bite. Preying. But whim-filled eyes held back, hating the too-cognizant-self. Some things were not told, because the innocent her Cissa would stay for longer. A child, as long as Bellatrix could keep her.

_For you, face-saving promises  
>I'll whisper like prayers<br>Oh, I mean this  
>Oh, I swear this<em>

Out of mind, spontaneity broke in girled giggles and sheathed time-biding sharps for a while longer. Blonde locks spilled onto Bella's chest as the chit giggled furiously, laughing merry sentiment. A wry look from Bellatrix thrust toward the heavens (which only the sun saw). Muffled into her shoulder, Bella heard hysterics.

"Not a book! No, you're a belligerent Bell. And believe me, sometimes I'd like to clang you upside your off-tune head."

_[On this sentiment, Minerva quite agreed. Though the rest of the exchange…she was at a loss of concordance within herself.] _

Chuckling, Bellatrix held the girl to her, rather gently. A heart-point chin found home atop a sunny mane. Ironically, she became book anyway. To herself she whispered, the softest of inking answers, recording history, their manuscript after all.

"Well, find me a stormy day. Put you and me in that hall, and let's see how its ceiling shines then…"

But Cissa heard.

* * *

><p><em>[Minerva felt doubled; too much, too little of her in the next memories. Points-of-view clanged, and she somehow managed to step back and forward all at once. Reliving through too many eye sets.]<em>

_September 1, 1965._

In the Great Hall, her new peers shifted uncomfortably. _En masse_, and middled, they passed between the center tables, long and staring. Too aware of the glued student-body eyes, the unsorted frantically wondered if they passed muster. Only Narcissa held curious, eyes collecting the new. She, the quietly composed, sought come-what-may. While peers attempted to walk without tripping, she beheld the ceiling wonder. Despite her upbringing, she allowed childish marvel to pool in her eyes. _This _Bellatrix had told of. Stained glass spread sable, and the outside eve unfolded into dark blankets. Appropriately, the ceiling mirrored. Enchanted stars sparkled, twinkling winks from above. In the hall, cerulean searched for sisters. She found Andromeda first, at the appropriate nest. The brief glance; a soft lip pulled, just. And Andy's head nudged honey on air, indicating Cissa onward. Though face impassive, the gesture was an internal blonde chin-up. But it wasn't the face she needed. Save for the Unsorted, the rest of the student-body was seated or milling their way towards such state. The awed bunch of first-years timidly made way. Narcissa made use of her slight stature, weaving and bobbing amongst the covey of quail (successfully avoiding most of the uncouth jostling). Between flickers, between limbs, a scene at the front of the hall caught her eye. By the faculty table, she found curled hair conferencing with a formidable witch…it held the connotation of a last minute impartation.

Several things happened at once.

Cissa surmised that Bella's interlocutor was Professor McGonagall — it wasn't a hard hurdle. It seemed such understanding of relations wasn't one-sided, as green turned from Bellatrix and cut her way; the briefest of acknowledgements. This, followed with a mellow lip-quirk, as the professor saw and kindly ignored her face flush. The blonde felt oddly heard. And for a fraction, she saw in the woman what Bella did. Children of the House of Black were seen, never heard. And to suddenly be recognized as _sound_ in their otherwise deaf world. Well. Narcissa was out of her element and sorts. But before she could draw winter to her, the glimmer of coaled eyes steadied the air between. More so than Andy, they prompted her connected, unencumbered — the agile Cissa amongst the insecure.

Perhaps the conversation had ended naturally. But more likely Bella was over it, whatever it had been. Her swagger back to the snake pit was nothing less than cocky and quintessential. And Cissa didn't need the flash of smirk to signal blood pings between them. Familial familiarity, and something in her system shone stellar. She wondered at coincidence, as even McGonagall seemed intrigued…when a small nova birthed batches of stars above them. New purples and gold, tangled into bright burn in the Gothic rafters.

But the ceiling fascination seemed fleeting and passed. Or perhaps Dumbledore's hum and hand moved them forward. (She assumed it him; stories painted his bearded countenance to all children of their world). Either way, Cissa took the time to observe, to memorize her sister's academic master. The woman was a commanding witch of perhaps thirty years, both in power and comeliness. She palmed a thick parchment, rolled in hand. Donned in sere robes, trimmed in her House red, the parchment wielder displayed a flattering form-fit to curves. Dark waves swept up into a classic bun, pointed hat atop to finish the trademarked vision. The witch was the epitome of understated pulchritude, no-nonsense, and knowledge. But it was the sharp eyes, fresh emeralds, that told Cissa of clever. This was their Bella's well-written mentor: the famous Minerva McGonagall. This a woman not to be crossed or pandered.

Twirling thoughts in think (batons of Rolodex), Narcissa reviewed her mental notes, and considered reality.

* * *

><p><em>After Bella had gone to Hogwarts, at least Andy had remained for one year longer. Her middle's presence played anesthesia to a pained soul, balming it salved. And yet it was only the temporary fix, as her middle left the following year for Slytherin. Two years passed without her fiercest companion, with Bella pleated away at Hogwarts. And Cissa was chained cold, caged within Manor Noir. Last year (the year without Meda) had been the nastiest. Both her sister-hearts gone. No more gentle Andy to be anodyne, to assuage and allow Narcissa soundboard. No more Bellatrix, her stellar marker…she'd lost her balm coatings. And without coat, she could not warm away the missing thoughts of Bella. <em>

_They had attempted to make do with distance, but it was no friend. Knowing her sister's tendency to freeze, Bellatrix had demanded letters, demanded any kind of emotion. So Cissa wrote, but mostly harsh winds. She took refuge in creating spats, spitting anger. It wouldn't do for them to get along now. The anger protected her, while Bella could not. _

_It took all her energy to keep her icy heart above freezing, just above cracked waters. A treading marathon. And she only managed with the availability of quill and ink. Her father's…lessons, they paled in comparison to the loss of writing privileges. This knowledge Cygnus used accordingly, knowing her weakness (her Achilles'). He enjoyed and bit at it often. So Cissa wrote furious, furious winters. Bellatrix returned prolifically in kind with ice picks. Missive after missive had arrived, filled and flowing with Bella-script. Words of flippancy, promise, and loyalty never torn asunder. And among this all, Bella's writing had detailed her most unique tutorage. Detailed Minerva McGonagall._

_At least they had holidays. Even if few and far between._

* * *

><p>Cissa watched as McGonagall snapped suddenly, fingertips cracking enchantment. Even she, used to prodigious magical exploits, gasped at the wandless magic (summoning was rather difficult). It produced a ratty old sorcerer's hat. Wrinkled and balanced, it sat precariously atop a rickety old stool.<p>

_'The Sorting Hat.'_ The witch surmised. While Bella was a master of secrets (tightlipped when situation called), Meda could rarely keep her mouth shut unless dire straits rampaged rivers. Cissa's lips quirked in brief at the hat's explanatory if not inane song.

"Abbot, Henrietta."

Professor McGonagall's voice dropped steadily into Cissa's conscience. Lost in ponderance, Narcissa had apparently missed the prefacing explanations. No matter. Against Hogwarts grain, Meda-the-gossip had seen fit to expel the Ceremony's entailings. Evidenced (and reinforced) by action, Cissa realized Andy had not been flicking her wand. She glanced toward the snake pit. And judging by Meda's "I-told-you-so" face, preening and smug next to Bella, Narcissa deduced that Andy enjoyed being an insufferable know-it-all. Predictably, Bellatrix was impassive; though her eyes did give subtle way to twinkle.

A lanky girl with golden bangs stepped forward (Abbot, Henrietta…evidently). Nervously, she edged up to the old stool worn by past Sortings. The professor plucked the hat off the seat, her features pulled into an expectant look. The entire hall waited — as did Abbot. Confused at the lack of progress, the girl looked aimlessly to the Gryffindor Head. Amused, the witch quirked a lip. With the slighted head-tilt, she indicated the girl toward the stool. Predictably, Abbot blushed, realizing it was for her they waited. Once seated, she squirmed miserably. But Sorting was underway. McGonagall placed the hat atop strawberry-blonde locks. A short internal conversation between hat and girl commenced, until…

"HUFFLEPUFF!" The hat roared, as did the table welcoming a relieved Henrietta.

"Abercrombie, Susan," became yet another Hufflepuff. Though, this decision was a very minor hatstall (the hat took two minutes in contemplation). Cissa supposed it was debating the terrified girl's virtues…or lack thereof (Bella would scoff). And so Sorting continued in such similar fashion, through the rest of the "A" surnames.

"Ackerley, Macro." Ravenclaw.

Beginning with the Bs, Narcissa's stomach pitted and rolled avalanches. Her mental fingers crossed to white (for Slytherin). She knew the severity, the lash-whip in store — one even Bella couldn't circumvent — should she be found worthy of another house. In the legacy of Black, the _only_ worthy house was Slytherin. With an entire legacy behind her name, Cissa scoffed internally at the nargles that picked her brain raw.

As "Baddock, Chrysma" was sorted into the snake pit, Narcissa attempted not to twitch.

And then "Bell, Matthew" was greeted with a bellowed "GRYFFINDOR" from the ratty old hat. As the boisterous lion table made obnoxious racket, Bellatrix caught her eye in an over-exaggerated roll. Cissa had to stifle a giggle, as the distaste upon Bella's features grew more prominent. (The pedant was perturbed, you see, as a rare smile from her mentor greeted that particular student. Gryffindors. She detested the lot of them.) Unstylish reading glasses, and McGonagall continued to consult her list. Narcissa wondered why the witch donned a curious, if not, calculating expression then. As if the professor worried about scales balancing. Eyes seemed to turn a monumental page hesitantly. And unlike the steady "Bell, Matthew" of before, Scottish lilt carefully called,

"Black, Narcissa."

Her fellow first-years, they joined wide-eye society. Even ones with whom Cissa had found slight accord, in journey across the lake. Only those prospective Slytherins, those who'd managed to make her acquaintance, seem pleased with themselves. And then the whispers began.

"Black?!"

"As in B-b-bellatrix Black?!"

"THAT wicked witch?"

"Well, I heard from my sister…."

"…that pure water can melt her!"

"I heard the youngest is cold as the middle is warm…"

"Well, with an eldest sister like THAT…"

"McGonagall's protégé?"

"…brilliantly scary…"

"That bitch, she hexed my brother!"

"I heard she can shed her skin as easily as…"

They never stopped. As one the cohort stepped back, leaving a large berth around Cissa; a circle of pariah, tinged with a fearful respect. But bringing a new status erect. And so it came to pass that Narcissa Black had come to Hogwarts, her reputation preceded by her sisters'. The eldest's in particular. And suddenly, the blonde understood a crueler Bellatrix Black existed outside the brutally honest, brutally true Bella she knew. Narcissa reached for onyx amongst Slytherin's table. Across a knowing chasm, violets met her. They neither taunted nor apologized (though in deep recesses, perhaps there was a slight apprehension). But Bella only waited. Cissa sighed, and regarded Professor McGonagall's curious, if not concerned gaze. If the rest of the school thought it odd, Cissa only felt right as her sister's mentor extended the uncharacteristic hand. The Gryffindor Head spoke again, loud enough for the school to hear. Loud enough to staunch the worst of whispers.

"Come, Cissa."

She thought the hand led her to steady, upon rickety stool. She thought Bella's magic kissed her forehead. And to this day, Narcissa can't recall a single word the Sorting Hat spoke to her mind. Only the booming, "SLYTHERIN!" that accosted the hall. But most of all, she remembered the briefest hand squeeze (her own back) and running to sisters. To those Black curls at the long Snake table. The faint whisper in her ear that bowled over all the others.

"Never doubt…"

She didn't.

* * *

><p><em>[Time slung-shot forward, and McGonagall flung fast with it.]<em>

_November 1967._

The wizarding world presupposed Bellatrix to be purposefully difficult. Society approached her as a hermetic nut to crack. As such, she opted to grow poisonous defenses. It was unclear now, who was the culprit and who was to blame for perpetuating the cycle. Meda did not dig for answer. And only questions dug at Cissa. Long ago, in more innocent youth, Narcissa had likened Bella's eyes to glassed windows — ones of the latched variety, but still unlockable. But wise naivety was grey Cissa. After all, entering Belled-realm could not be orchestrated, could not be a planned push. On occasion she'd peered through the violent violet (or more accurately, fall through) when Bella let her. In such way, Narcissa neither attempted to open windows, nor climb in. She shone through, simply; an Occam's razor in its prevailing fun.

Even the middle sister viewed her eldest cynically, always prepped for the arduous and vexing encounter. Opposed to Cissa, Meda had thought the coal eyes more as occluded portholes; the antithesis to the clichéd open of souls. She thought it the place where filmy cataracts collected, a defense from society. (Though of course, given Bella's horrific childhood, Andy didn't fault her sister.) But no matter which sister's interpretation taken, there was no dispute as to holdings. Therein eyes, lay secrets of other colors. Bellatrix learned to hide her other Metamorphic tells well.

Ever the cultured pureblood family of old, fits of emotion and accidental magic had no place in the Noble and Most Ancient House of Bxlack. It seemed prudent that Bella's survival instincts had hidden her Metamorphmagus powers until late childhood. (Bella wouldn't place name to this power until the end of 1967. This year.) This, most likely due to a repressed nature that began as forced, but later became her norm. She became what she ate. Now, it was usually her eyes that changed (hair as well, during highly emotive states). With sole-sister witnesses, Cissa was the best (worst) at catching it, much to Bella's discontent. As always, they assumed it some odd manifestation of accidental magic. Upon entering Hogwarts, the eldest let out her power; a newfound freedom was afforded to the Black sisters in the arena of expression. They'd all suffered oppression, atrocity. But the younger two, not to the same degree as Bellatrix; parental rape will do that. One night in Bella's fourth year (while releasing demons in magical tantrum), her Metamorphic powers emerged in full. Andromeda found her elder sister after the burst.

_[As for herself, the professor remained barely cognizant; her self-awareness waned as if the memory absorbed her therein. On this voyage it appeared Bella wasn't too keen on an interactive-Minerva…at least not in all the journey's legs.]_

It was well past dinner in the Great Hall when Meda _[and what existed of Minerva]_ ventured into the Slytherin prefects' bathroom. It wasn't hard for the fourth-year to guess the password; Slytherin was known to be rather uninventive in that aspect.

"Salazar." Her whisper looked down the long corridor, before entering the portrait-hole as it swung open.

Destruction waited inside. Porcelain sinks, were once white teeth lining the walls. Now, they were blasted clean away or had horrible chunks of enamel missing. Several pipes had burst and a nice inch of water had accrued on the tiled floor. A pathetic imitation of an ocean; a shoreline sterile and moldy. The large bathing tub _looked_ untouched. That is until Meda peeked in and found smoldering ash, a pile of what might have once been linen towels. She chanced her gaze up. The ceiling was gouged in random crisscross patterns; Bella could wield her wand most precisely when prompted.

_[The Head's neurons managed to fire several senses of Déjà Vu before dissipating. Though not as comprehensive, the destruction was reminiscent of that presently found in the Transfiguration classroom. As for what could be construed as present, Minerva felt in place but anachronistic.]_

Had Andy been another sort, she might have bemoaned her lot in life. Forever she picked-up, gluing pieces of Bella's destructive soul back together…never mind the cracks still apparent. It was perhaps then credit to them all, that the porcelain skin of the eldest starlet appeared flawless. IIt was always the worst near the Winter holiday from Hogwarts, which at the current was rapidly approaching. Naïve no longer, Andromeda had no sugarcoated illusions at to exactly how her father _loved_ his eldest daughter. It disgusted Andy, but to some extent she did not seek to change the situation; Bella's silent acquiescence to his raping attentions protected her…Cissy as well. So instead, out of love for Bellatrix (and shrewd measures of self-preservation) Meda stilled her thoughts. For all of their sakes, Bella's sanity needed to remain intact.

Feet sought the adjacent primping chamber and did not think of what waited. There. The looking glass cracked, wall-to-wall spider webs, though it hung together with distorted reflections. Elegant black robes greeted from the corner of the room. It distressed Andy soulfully that her bloodbond to Bella barely prickled, even now in her presence. She tried to forget that she and Bella had barely spoken in months, not really. She tried to remind herself: their bonds always weakened in the months surrounding December. That is, with Bellatrix's dive off the world; her descent into dark abysses. It seemed that Bella was their anchor, the fulcrum of blood ties. Meda tried then to forget then, that in this recession Cissa seemed to flourish, binding grey filaments with their darkest sister.

_'Spools of thread, winding...dining…sixty-nin_—_'_ her mind cut off the vulgar rhyme. But the recesses knew, she knew it was more. Andy's connection to her sisters was beginning to dwindle. For several weeks now she had felt it slipping, a slow drainage. And yet, it was only a one-way street. Because Cissa hadn't shown difference. Because Bellatrix, sensing her sister's presence, spoke.

"Black child, must you seek demons?" A Bella-creature turned then, to face Andromeda. Trickles of blood traced pale arms and glass culprits flickered silver in the lowlights.

Andy did not have to wonder if her sister had purposely stood too close to the mirror. She awed at the violet eyes. They gazed at her form, probing in their residual hunger, seemingly disappointed.

"Curious…isn't it? Eyes morph and colors grow more pale than the moonlight." The library would be in order. Bella's suspicions fulfilled, fully suspecting Metamorphmagery. The collection of incidents pointed toward such diagnostic.

Sure enough, beneath the painting blood, Bella's skin was alabaster and shone oddly. As if with the blanching, so were Bellatrix's emotions…absent, even toward a sister in the room. Oddest of all was the silky curtain of hair; it fell sable-blue, tamed to Bella's waist, not a curl in sight. Andromeda might have taken her for the vampiric cousin of a Veela. She approached cautiously. In base-form Bella was volatile; in disturbed states she was all but explosive. Closer now, she marveled; Bella was no longer her tower.

* * *

><p><em>As small children, Meda had tended toward sturdy, while her sisters had been slender. However, during puberty, it became clear that Andy and Bella had inherited the infamous Noir curves (Bellatrix to a sensual degree). Narcissa of course, had developed. But Andy rather thought the blonde's form exuded that of old Rosier class, Veela-esque. <em>

_Before menarche, Andromeda's form had resembled Narcissa's more so in petite stature, though not curvature. And for awhile, Bellatrix had towered over Meda. However, adolescence had proven the two eldest closer, with body shapes nearly twinning. Andy had sprung upward, remaining only an inch shy her sister. Strangers mistook them for each other. But after twice met, even acquaintances disbelieved their previous blunder. _

_In later years, she would surpass Bella's height entirely by a good handspan. Still. They had something of a strange similarity. Even after Bellatrix's narrow had curved voluptuous and her features had shaded dark instead of honey. Cissa had and would remain their littlest sister. _

* * *

><p>Gently by the waist, Andy steered her sister's frame toward the broken mirror. Bellatrix shuddered at the affectionate contact (as if injured), but she leaned back into the embrace anyway. Honey eyes peered over shoulders at their doubled and warped reflections. Violets reared back. Meda wrangled.<p>

"All the moonlight in the world couldn't steal your colors, Bellatrix Black. You remain the most _colorful_ person I know." Forever unsure at Bella's moonlit sentiments, Andy opted for sisterly affection.

"I should be but insulted, Meda…_colorful_? I am all colors, I absorb them...I am **Black**." Sultry preened off morphic lips, and the room found humid in language.

The statement: half indignant, half family mockery. But even as Bellatrix jested, their disparate eyes saw straight hair take to wild curl. And whitened skin swelled into small pigment once again. Andromeda's presence sometimes brought Bella to herself. But more often than not, it was arbitrary magic (not odd, considering the magic-holder herself). Her mind was quiet, however, as to the subject of their youngest sister…and Bella's magic in the girl's presence. Andy was well aware her sisters were otherworldly somehow.

* * *

><p><em><em>This eve of bathroom-destruction marked Bella's first full Metamorphic transformation, though they knew it not until later. In the past year, and in addition to her eyes, Bellatrix's hair had taken to reflecting her emotional upheaval. At the time, they'd all assumed that the witch was simply prone to accidental magic. <em>Just last week, Andromeda had been bemused, as Cissa had taken to knitting winter hats, several simultaneously. (These, apparently, meant for the days Bella's hair refused its natural form, wild as that may be.) At first, not surprisingly, Bellatrix vehemently refused, quite vocally. Several threats of disembowelment may have occurred. Andy had chuckled, as this was to be expected. As any good sister would do, she proceeded to rib Narcissa at her foiled plot. But Cissa had hushed her fondly, and continued at her yarn oddities. _

_And then one afternoon, not long after. Bella's locks had again self-magicked, but this time remaining fuchsia for seven stubborn hours. That particular Hogsmeade day, the fuming witch had consigned them all to the common room, evidently to watch her pout childishly. Andy resigned herself to ridiculous fate and stuck her nose in book, half-reading, half-relaxing to the sound of Cissy's clinking needles. But then Narcissa finished the first toque, aptly black and accented with green. Perhaps they had thought Andy was engrossed in her text (a nicked book from Bella's peculiar stash). Perhaps they hadn't cared if she saw._ And perhaps she thought, more likely, Cissa to be unaware of what she offered to the semi-public eye._  
><em>

_It had been soundless, the exchange. Their youngest sister had slid over to Bellatrix. (The latter was a petulant sight…scowling in the best armchair, and wanding a fellow housemate's sweater into awful configurations.) The girl had giggled and slipped into Bella's lap easily, as if she'd done it before (she probably had). At first, Andy had been amused, waiting for the inevitable spat that would result. No one took to Bella's space like that, not without permission. But Bellatrix had merely huffed, her eyes taking on some kind of foreign emotion. At ease, Cissy had wiggled the hat onto the bright explosion of hair, tucking curls under the cap in an organized and soft fashion. It was the hands. Andy watched those delicate fingers, the same that happily braided her own hair at times. But not like…that. They certainly didn't linger on her face with the same devotion. Andromeda held breath, unclear why. It was the smile. It bloomed broad on Bella's face. For seconds it was like a break in storm clouds, not for lightening, but for skies of blue. Fleeting, but true, it was a rare sight. And her __sister cupped those blonde waves gently, whispering to Cissa's ear. These items, unheard by the world, but smelled a lot like love. Bella's lips had lingered fondly near flushing ear, before spouting to the room (and Meda) with a snort. _

_"I'll not walk around like some Beauxbatons bimbo with spell-bound hair!" And so it was, the vexed witch conceded to yarn atrocities (so she claimed them). _

_So hats it was on volatile hair days. But Andromeda wondered what else Bella had conceded._

* * *

><p>Bruised eyes lingered to catch honey in reflection. Unspoken many-things were said.<p>

"You are neither Demon nor Angel…only Bella." Meda reminded, knowing it was one of those many-things. But Andromeda was firm in her belief. True, her sister was no saint, rather a misguided and tortured soul.

Bellatrix felt distanced and too read. As her hair still curled into finishing touches, Bella attempted to remedy the anti-feeling and feeling. She tilted her head, finding lips. Demons riled, wanting things she ignored. Andromeda. So Andromeda it was. Until Andy pulled away, breathless, as Bellatrix always left her. The older witch felt a short tenderness flash. It arranged itself outside a locked safe, a larger blaze that held imperturbable inside her. But the short tender glinted weak, only to succumb to the winter inside. The one that blew chapped lungs, and blackened her toes. Oddly, as the glint blew out (a birthday cake flame), the walls around the sun-blaze remained harsh. Nothing in, nothing out. Birthday candles were all part of the cake though and Bella certainly intended to eat. And currently. Her hands dabbled upon flesh. Honey dribbled, still breathless in slight amour.

"Perhaps, the Black demons would leave us. If you…maybe…maybe if you only absorbed a _few_ of the colors." Unthinkingly, Andromeda spoke her mind, as she savored Bella's hands idle upon her neck.

Feral, Bellatrix halted mid-descent into kiss; her lips paused and parted. Violent eyes switched turns and crimson red burned.

"If you suggest this, then you have _considered_ action." Hisses were danger. "And you suggest that we _betray_ the Blacks." Hot breath, ancestorous wrath, wrapped 'round, sinewy and seductive as death.

The touch upon neck dug nails in anger and Andromeda whimpered. It was a mistake to have forgotten Bella's loyalty. It was a mistake to forget anything. Carefully she reworded.

"I would perhaps suggest, if only by their nature, that the Blacks have often _betrayed_ ourselves. How many times have they broken your bones, your…body, my passions, Cissa's childhood? I will'na have them take your soul!"

Red eyes dulled back to darks as Bellatrix considered sister words. Andromeda knew the witch's greatest weakness: her sisters. Cissa in particular; their youngest was a soft spot that Bella sought to shelter. In that moment, Bella's hand upon her heart, it was a rare true tender. Neither fraught with family politics or conniving motivations. Just Bella. There wouldn't be another time for it. She took the _now_ that presented itself, knowing this was a conversation Bellatrix had avoided since their childhood, long ago in that ravine. Andromeda continued then, baring heart and voicing concern. But mostly fact.

"I am _not _like you and Cissy after all."

At this, Bella's bottom lip trembled for a pulse-beat, then no more.

"We _knew_ this was coming, Bells. I will forever be Black in name and never Black in heart. Whereas _you_, Bella…you are both." Andy huddled inside the witch's frame, taking comfort in memories, in a body that felt like home…even if it wasn't any longer. Her mouth moved into terror, into hope. "I wasn't meant to follow you. Not like this." Bellatrix jerked, her hold growing more firm and distant. "But Cissy, our Cissa is still so gentle." Andy whispered worry. "But so…Black. I see it in her, Bella. Flashes. But you could fight the brewing, sister. You could help her figh—"

"I DO NOT WISH TO FIGHT IT!" Having enough, Bella roared, pushing away furiously. Her eyes ate the light, baleful and defending her keep. "And you will'na take her from me!"

Oh. She'd gone too far. Pushed, and portholes now were clouding over. Meda admonished internally…would she never learn? Her mouth opened to backtrack, but Bella wasn't in the mood for lip-service specials.

"You forget Andy, what little soul I've left merely seeks to protect yours and m—our Cissa's. I can't do that without myself. I can't do it without magic. And while you like to pretend otherwise, deary, I certainly can't do it without Black. And I am Black." The whisper managed to impart a harsh safeguard of bent.

Bella imagined her soul much like a broken mirror. Much like the one displayed so tragically and brazen before them. Cracked, barely structured. But intact and able to catch a glimpse of light (in this case Andromeda's reflection). And Andy herself was at a loss. This was…this was nothing good. This was a frantic understanding in her brain. A frantic inability to anything but watch events play out as they would. She fought against tears as Bella's hands danced back to her, back to play upon her torso. This was Bella. She'd always known. But this. This was…this wasn't Bella. It was Bella. Lips brushed her cheek, salty tinged. Sad and imparting their indentured lives.

"We cannot betray _ourselves_, Andy. Whether we like it or not, we are them: we are Blacks. Understand, you will'na lose me, Meda. But do rest assure that Cissa is safe. And _mine_. And we'll win in the end." Eyes darkened with starless midnight and bore ambiguity into Andromeda, clinging to past. Clinging to future. And Andy couldn't be sure if it was plea, statement, or threat that Bella murmured. Whatever it was, it was not stellar.

"And the rest. The rest is not up for discussion, Meda. You are ours, you are mine. You are Black. Never forget that." Bellatrix conveyed this passionately, dominating.

Rough, she pushed Andromeda against the shattered mirror. Inside her, the sun-wall remained sealed, tight the drum around a starburst. Stellar didn't live here. (It lived there). Andy moaned as mirror bit her back. Of its own accord, a leg wrapped around her sister's curving hip. Bellatrix caressed the camber of Andy's breast, her side. Frantically, her other hand gathered full navy skirts to Andy's waist and dove into the shadows there. Bellatrix chuckled sharp upon her sister's neck. Nips. Soft knowing teeth-titters, at the slippery friend she met in the deep. The abundant fears that burdened Meda's mind were shoved into a temporary corner. They replaced with a consummation only a Black could fully understand. Andy decided to despise herself later. Thoughts inchoate, no more she thought of her sister-witch unhinging before her eyes. Andromeda whimpered as she cracked and hated that she let fervid circles defeat her.

* * *

><p>When it was over, Bellatrix licked her fingers idly, tasting the shine. Her eyes burnt coal and empty. And without another word, Bella left her there, trembling. As black robes swept out room, finally the fractured mirror shattered about Andromeda in glass rain.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>R & R, if you please. In the 1967 scene, both Andy and Bella are 18 and well above the age of consent (which is 16 in the UK). As Andy's birthday is in November, it's that rare month where she has just turned 18 and Bella is approaching 19. Less Minerva in this, I know, but I wanted to get the underlying elements embedded (new semi-precious stones now, as opposed to sudden diamond confusion later).

**Translation:**  
>- <em>En masse <em>(French) - Literally, "in large amounts."

(Credits:_ Ani DiFranco – _Both Hands_, Everclear – _One Hit Wonder_, Natalie Merchant - _My Skin_,_ _Philip Pullman_ – His Dark Materials,_ Wicked the Musical – _No One Mourns the Wicked)


	8. April 1968 I: Three Sisters, Two Blacks

_[Familiar, the professor startled, finding herself amidst a Hogwarts scene. Feeling was within and the memory blinded Minerva as magnesium; brightness the highlands had not seen.]_

In the courtyard, Hogwarts students lazed in their various cliques, basking in the rare sunny day. However, despite her popularity (or infamy), Bellatrix remained the loner. Under the shade of her tree, she lazily perused a spellbook, avoiding the light of day through its foliage.

_[From the particular book in hand, the professor surmised; this memory dwelled during the tail end of Bella's fifth year (the girl now over the edge of nineteen). Clothing, sky, general temperament, and Minerva thought it late April.]_

Tranquility of the serene scene suddenly broke and Bella's head shot up from text; barbed sensations sharpening her veins.

_[Utterly unnerved, the professor too felt this; Bella's memory, it bristled at her most darkly.]_

Slightly, limbs trembled. Arousal simmered in blood. Eyes darted about, searching out cause for bloodrite's spontaneous activation. Of age, but inexperienced, her Blackrite (or _'Blackcurse'_ as she facetiously thought it) seemed to prickle on and off, though usually prompted by trigger. By people held in heart. Across the courtyard, onyx found and settled on a form.

_'Ah. McGonagall.'_ A childish scowl lit her face.

_[Minerva startled to hear the girl's thoughts, especially with herself as subject. But across the courtyard indeed. From the vantage point of Bella's tree (athwart the yard) the professor recognized her own robed form. Patrolling, so it seemed.]_

Impassive face, as ever, and Bellatrix stroked fading bruises. Wrist decorations. Dark gazed an almost tender, caressing the faint form of Minerva across the way.

_[Those bruises. Deduction and quick, and Professor McGonagall realized this particular memory fell in step with her own recollection of past. The memory current, lived sometime after a mind-burning night, both mute in its horror and bloodied in its beaten pupil.] _

Bellatrix took to fuming, her sooty aura sweeping chimneys. It did not bode well, to have such a blood trigger. Temporarily in temper, she self-deprecated, despising this grey affection for her mentor, whom she held desperately close. After all, why should that witch receive any Blackrite tender? Beyond _family_, none were recipient. And that was how she liked it. Concerning what that meant, she chose not to reflect too deeply. Black is as Black does. And yet, strange pulls still brought her toward Minerva, in unsteady orbits around mentor moon. Maybe it was the woman's wit, her sparring mind. But _mabyes_ were moot. This moon unexpectedly _was_. Had Bella been of a more conservative mind, this may have bothered. But perhaps she knew her compartments well. Still, in this capacity, Minerva now fluently outranked Meda (but only as of late).

Yet _both_ were burnt-out easily, at the notion of sun. But that star remained pupa for now, as Bella intended it should. Last year's lapse — and what a grand lapse it was. Narcissa's débutante ball had proven to be…illuminating. And Bellatrix tried tirelessly to rid herself of such longing (for repeat). Time would come soon enough (and it wasn't yet time). But it would. And then, eternal refrains would reign in House of Black, permanent in black orbit: an era-aura dark and bloomed in red tango. Cissa pupa, but Bella was butterfly. So until such chrysalis prison break (sealing Sun and Night together as equator halves)…novas it was — she'd find _flares_. Friend them, fuck them, let them fade. Still. It annoyed her. She loved it when she flared. It intrigued, the inclination to break pretty things. It was the reason she fucked as she pleased, and stung the world. It was Black. And no, Bellatrix would not fight it. It felt dirty. It was black-market good, poached and pristine. In short, her nature smarted. Scorpions sting; it's what they do.

So. Unnerved, though unsurprised, Bella felt her magic spider out, tendrils caressing her pores in gentle web. Bliss, beaded and strung. It _had_ happened before (Minerva in her blood) though it was always an odd occurrence. (It would be important to note that for Bella, most people were made of dirt, grounded in limited and muddy ways. It was sparse occasions when aired conversations confluenced with wizardkind, and a more infrequent rarity when such interaction lifted her sky-bound.) The professor felt like a…different variety. Seasonal blaze perhaps; a remote and distant kin of stellar. And it bothered her that McGonagall was a touch _more_ than flare. Granted, far from stellar, the professor was seemingly stratosphere. In the unspoken cellars of mind, stellar feeling associated and was celestially reserved. Sun. Cissa. Stellars. Strange then, that Minerva would take up residence in a distant kin star path. It was different. Less full.

Although innate antagonists, the buoyant emotion still aroused her darker senses, intensifying the tactile experience. Oddly though, Bella knew bloodrite was not the_ root_ of current sensation, merely a residual response. Rather, it seemed that Bellatrix-despite-her-Black-soul, could still find affection beyond familial. Knowledge of this plagued her, as it was a dangerous thing to hold, this esteem for her mentor (no matter the ambiguous type it was). Blacks did not intake others for affection. It was weak. It was muddy. Thus, this rare instance and she found her father's deranged lessons useful; stolid face offered the outside world nothing. Only Bellatrix's eyes betrayed the feeling she encompassed; her gaze lit terracotta upon Minerva's form, and did not waver.

_[At the time, the Gryffindor had not felt the clay slip upon her. But now within memory, the kiln of stare was so fired, it fashioned Minerva an aghast sculpture.]_

No warning and Bella's blood spiked. (Zenith mountains, sudden Everest, and orgasmic air thinned.) Against her tree it was asphyxiatingly good. She alarmed for breathless moments; an avalanching befuddle, as this was not Min—

"Bella. Bellll-la?" A crafty voice partnered with Sherpa skies.

_'Ah.' _Cissa the ice-porter. That _would_ do it. A neck twitch, and Bella settled into their vacuum.

The voice was of echo quality, creviced and cool. Delicate, but it lacked the rolling honey of Andromeda's timbre. Perhaps the first call had not reached, or perhaps Bellatrix had thought to ignore it. But on the second sounding, eyes broke into crystal, amethysts at the exhibition of her youngest sister. Violets bloomed fuller in sun, did they not? And to Bella, the slim atmosphere between them tasted like mint, grapes, and night-robe summits. Her personal amortentia. Sunny yes, but it could not be denied that Narcissa Black was a cool beauty. Whereas elder sisters were shaded, either in coal or dark amber, Cissa alone held sunlight in her features' regard. Golden hair-rays and decanter eyes — traits atypical for those of Black heritage. (Evidently the Rosier line won this time, with recessive tendencies.) But haughty bone structure marked her a Black, very much their own. Though young, at seventeen, many found quickly that fair features did not match public disposition; Cissy's frigid demeanor seemed treacherous to sun. But sisters alone knew her suns…and her darks. Bella's eyes caught her sister's. They always caught. The greys of competition simmered between (but as Blacks this was expected). Momentarily, sibling squabbles twinkled in Bella's eyes, quite reminiscent of tickling grass blades. Narcissa answered eye-roll, fond a sister to such camaraderie. This was shallow. Secure. The comfort of civic home; the house that Bella built, safe for public view.

_[The professor knew it a roof cover for them both, shingled and weathering. A way to ignore boilings of lust, and worse, the shudders of bottomless affection (the current basement). The Head wondered at reciprocity; though clever as wand, the blonde seemed naïve as to her own making. And she wondered if the girl was aware of the tiers: Bella's careful construction of façade. Those nails, which Bellatrix hammered in furiously; she held them together by holding them apart. No. Minerva doubted Narcissa knew of Bella's plied plight. However, she did not doubt Bella's intent to conceal such.] _

Toward her elder, the chit seemed curious in nature; such gentles tortured Bellatrix. Greenhorn traveler, Cissa was only at the foothills of understanding.

_[Still, seasoned professor or not, Minerva trembled at the pull between their blood. Bolder than the one felt between the eldest sisters. No, this one…it shared foreboding history; stellars held between them as gravity. And it threatened to shoot hardware out as shrapnel, rendering Pandora's box open.]_

Municipal view. Public persona.

"What do-ooo you _want_, Cissy, I'm reading." Bellatrix snapped at her sibling and aristocratically flipped an aged page.

The public harsh was Bella's welcome. It set safe tone. Narcissa descended to sit beside her sister underneath the tree. Silence, heavy with tension, pulled between the two inside the bubble of foliage.

"Reading…as in your book, or McGonagall's _hips_, Bella?" Cissa whispered, half-petulant in retort.

_[Minerva raised mental brows at this remark. Cissy had claws, apparently.] _

The sullen commentary, however, did not faze Bellatrix. It prompted cruel in kind.

"Is that…_jealousy_ I detect in your voice? _Chérie_, I do have life beyond your own amusement. Truly, Cissy dear, this egocentric of late doesn't become. It's rather muggle of you." The dark witch merely raised a voicing brow, and half-continued at book.

Narcissa's eyes widened to vulnerable whites, anger her sudden color. Without looking, Bellatrix easily ducked the stinging jinx come her way. Briefly, she studied the recipient of foray. Poor tree; bark smoldered slightly. Unfretted by jinx, she flipped another page. And external amusement chuckled on her face and the air. Her gentle sister was too easy to bait. A black eyebrow synchronized, matching her mind and verbs. Cissa scowled, wand already resheathed. Lately, Bella had easily abided the girl's hormonal inclinations. (Bellatrix supposed it karmic retribution for her own raging puberty. Horrid as it was). It wryly charmed her that Cissy had been struck so quintessentially…_teenage_. Petulance, swinging moods, bite and all. In truth, it was testament to Bella's patience, her fondness of the girl; Cissa had been rather beastly for the past several months. Apparently seventeen was a rotten age, even for the sweetest of sisters. Though, Bellatrix did have fun manipulating, sicing the girl on Andy.

* * *

><p><em>Minerva did have to snort at that, recollecting the blonde year of juvenile wand jinxing. Puberty had struck the youngest Black rather contrary. Unfortunately for Hogwarts, the girl was Slytherin smart and sneaky. She had a rather uncanny talent for putting brains to hotheaded use. The academic Scot could appreciate such swot. She recalled Pomfrey's immense irritation, at having to solicit McGonagall's (and at times, Flitwick's) recurrent assistance in reversal efforts. The professor had quite enjoyed Pomfrey's flustered fluctuation (consternation and pride for the Madame's favored student). <em>

_Cissa's more clever charms always proved to be…inventive. Harmless in nature, really. Thus, detention to the youngest Black was regularly assigned (amidst Minerva's bitten lip, holding back delighted laughter). Combined with good instinct and the handy knack to duck, Bellatrix had inclination for timing, and always knew when Cissa would wand-snap. Andy, however, wasn't so skilled. It had been quite the spectacle: goody-two-shoe Andy Black with duckbill for mouth and snakes for hair…in all her dress-robe finery, the hour before the school Valentine's Day dance. Such had been the professor's favorite occurrence. Meda had insulted during a touchy time of mouth (something about shark week). Bella had fallen to hysterics, quipping, that it at least now Andy's mouth better resembled her quacking._

* * *

><p>Nonchalantly, back against the tree, Bella slumped and smirked, book only prop now. In ire, the Cissa-creature became formidable. Mildly, Bellatrix flipped a page. Out the corner of a happy eye, she watched as a flushed front swept over angelic features. It pleased the dark witch, the girl's inability to remain icy when it came to her. Only her. Internally, somewhere in footnotes, the story was far more tender. Another page turned. Bella squinted at a particular passage, as parallel process was the uncanny:<p>

_"It is important to revisit the process of morphotosynthesis. In review, this is the natural process by which plants transfigure light energy into magical properties. Morphotosynthesis decreases in strength during the winter months, but peaks at the onset of spring. Therefore, in regard to potioneering, it is noteworthy that herbs will yield a spectrum of potency depending on their time of harvest. Master level potioneers must be aware of such nuance, as premium ingredients yield premium potions. In layman terms, different herbal potencies are used for different potions. Expect potion temperamentality, if one is lax in attention to such._"

Bella snorted. How fitting for their situation: potent spring herbs indeed. Outwardly she quipped, prodding at Cissa's temperamentality. This at least seemed more interesting, than grazing upon textbook. The taste was better too.

"Such rashness, Cissa-dear, from your jealous mouth and wand. Not your usual fare, sister. And ah, emotions so _soon_? Tsk tsk, Papa would be most…displeased." Bella felt volatile today, and oscillated between herself and herself.

The sky trembled in Narcissa's eyes. Bella went too far. The unexpected defensive, and her mouth held sneer as bullets shot out.

"Winter-break chime anything? Papa's rather displeased with _you_…or so I heard_. _We all did; it was impossible not to. I was surprised you were even able that night, to make it to your _**mud-loving**_ savior, in your beaten and cur-whipped state." Narcissa was blunt, unkind. Both adolescent and atrocious in gibe.

Book snapped shut. Pale fingers twitched toward wand. Wood was even touched, sparking revenge. It was only the speaker's identity that spared Cissy from screaming hex. But if Bellatrix found it odd, her soft sister finding spite, it wasn't apparent. Only endured. Barely. She seethed, oozing crimson at the cruelty from Cissa (this baiting of Bella with the holocaust monsters that resided at home). Though veins called for blast and blooding, the witch knew the thoughtless sentiment to be…insincere. The girl was simply raging at the world. And Bellatrix, unfortunately, was the Atlas in theirs. Hair frizzed static, and fingers snarled. Apparently she'd grown too slipshod and Cissa had only grown. This couldn't go on, Cissa's ireful idiocy. _Baiting Bella_ was a stupid game for anyone to play, toxic for the instigator. But for the two of them, it was a most dangerous game (albeit for different reasons). It threatened combustion and Bella would have flame, one way or another. She wanted the other. She bit it back because…Cissa. Oh, but Cissa. And craving thumped body, thumbed Bella…wanting. The stupid girl had waded too close to carnal cliff, tempting Bellatrix to lose control, to push. Malevolence tasted on the palate; delicious in ways her sister was...tempting. Lips and the slow savoring tongue. Pink.

_'Fire. Fix. Now.' _

Thoughts were primitive, veins surged animal. But moderation of instinct overrode blood. It only took up the majority of Bella's brainpower.

_'Book. Reading. Keep reading.' _Control was picked back up.

Her magical core pulsed at this forced control. Still, emotional magic (and heart valves) leaked. Metamorphmagus peeked; nails grew sharp. Her face nonchalance and another page flipped…too quickly. Talons slashed a page gaping; conduit for the sweet wrath Bellatrix attempted to misplace. Fingers perhaps wrote future days there.

_[Minerva saw protégé eyes flicker toward mentor form across the way, as if for guidance. As if for condonation. Sharp cheekbones seemed to cut, saw toward basement. The professor tensed, knowing the moment before Bellatrix slipped on the cellar stairs.]_

Hands sharp…snatched. Discreetly, the witch grasped Cissa's wrist, digging in tight trowels. Just hard enough for pain to sound clearly. The blonde gasped at the sudden hurt. Only to breathe strange pleasure as whetted nails sunk possession into garden flesh. Close, Bella leaned in, as if to whisper secret. Instead, a lingering kiss, bestowed angrily upon the tender flesh of neck, just below an ear.

_'Such a pretty ear.'_

Petal lips felt full and Narcissa's blood whimpered screams in ivy refrains. Enjoying, Bellatrix chuckled darks. Her eyes fluttered the maroons of contentment, lashing magic at her sister's Blackblood. Cissa called back at her frantically, pulling. Wanting. Confused.

(_want confusion want confusion confusion confusion confusion confusion confusion_)

The frantic accosted Bella. Lips still pressed to skin, she hated herself.

_'Cissa. Child. Cease.' _

And Bellatrix pulled her (blood)punch. Some. They held there huddled in a long silence, sharing plight. But the whisper _did _come at last,

_"Narciss-sssa._" The name drew out as ink swipes. And Bella, despite self-deprecation, was most satisfied with the wrist flutters in her grasp. With the heated space between her lips and a shoulder. Calligraphy, she offered, penning useful advice. "Flattered as I am at your..." she trailed off into tacit. "Don't play such games with me. Especially ones where my rules are so volatile." Bella's words bit bitter truth, apples meant for cooking, not eating.

Contrary to her words, a tender hand. It grazed Cissa's proud cheek, craving the unconscious nuzzle (of which the girl was unaware, but inclined). Sky eyes refused to meet her elder and Bella allowed such hide for a while. But despite Cissy's upset, touch from Bella and the blonde was home. Even in the worst of moments, touch remained theirs. Violet eyes traced jaw. Fingertips lingered. And the dark witch wondered when the girl had picked up Bella's own brand of vindictive speech, and that similar and too proud countenance. Bellatrix couldn't decide if she was pleased or mournful at the imprint she'd made upon her gentle sibling. Her charge.

"I would at least _suggest_ learning the rules first. And for Salazar's sake, pick the cruel games you play, more wisely. You're a sodding wanker for playing such with me."

That hand traced. That jaw shivered. They held two conversations at once. Words had nothing, had everything to do with what they spoke. At the language, Narcissa found contrite flush under the knowing hand. It was true, any other but her youngest sister and Bellatrix would scathe, impair, inflict wound. (Even Andy was unescaped from such brawl, though it tempered slightly.) Cyan finally rose, and met violet. Perhaps it was the nice weather or the delicate contour of Cissa's lip. But from amongst Bella's millions, several hundred nails pried out. Permanently. She felt it happen, but couldn't seem to care.

"First rule: I. Always. Win." Bella reminded, a dangerous song in young ear. That fine ear, it compelled.

Cissa's weight sagged, felled by dark bells. Though to any curious onlooker, it would have appeared sibling embrace: the older encircling her younger in sisterly hug. Sisterly, however, had a most _interesting_ connotation in the House of Black. The blonde's fingertips now dug into Bella's skirts, contact either pleading more or in struggle against. But Bellatrix moved away, righting Cissa to the world. Back to her textbook she went. Still, all games aside, concerning the subject of her mentor (concerning many things), Bella offered her youngest sister inbetween lines.

"It would do you well to be more…_appreciative_ of the protection I give, sister. Granted is not a thing to be taken, here. We all have secrets, Cissy. Do not go looking for mine or in the future, between us they'll always be." Threat had been made, nothing idle.

With such, Bella made it abundantly clear that some secrets would have to be allowed. For now. Imparting, that Cissa_ too_ would do well to abide by tacit rules. For now. On her part, Narcissa had the good sense to look somewhat ashamed. Knowing that expression, Bella was markedly more humane.

"Do not alienate me, simply because you're confused and cranky. I'm the only true ally you have right now, in your icy rages, in your blooming. I understand you as no one else can. Or could." Bellatrix smiled a short reprieve, twirling gold between her fingers, before distress dressed her lips. "Not even our Meda." And as easily as that, subject shifted.

At this, even Narcissa appeared melancholy. It became a sensitive moment, fraught with anticipated loss. Head leaned, blonde locks spilled onto Bella's shoulder, their hands now in gentle clasp. Somewhere along the way, blood frenzy had traded for gloom.

"You too? You_ feel_ her slipping away?" Cissa whispered so softly that Bellatrix nearly missed it, mistaking it for wind.

_"How on earth woul—' _The sudden wand-light of mind. It lit an acute awareness (a _Lumos Maxima_). Bellatrix wrenched her neck, whipping black curls a'flying; a dark halo frenzy. She stared at her youngest.

"You've _bloomed_." Flat speech.

She had the severe urge to slap, to curse the blonde for hiding it. (Though, had Bellatrix attended to back-burner, she might have been impressed at the witch's skill in concealment.) Desperate and demanding hands cupped Cissa's face, the closest to fright Bella would show.

"You've fully _bloodbonded_ with Andy, with me, and you didn't even have the good _grace_ to inform?!" Tone was tumultuous. Incredulous.

_[By this point in slideshow memories, Minerva had understood it was a gradual process, the maturity of Blackrite in full. She assumed there were benchmarks, similar to general magic development: accidental magic, spontaneous prickles, quickening, blooming, and integration. The professor suspected such power then began to solidify, integrating fully with Black magic.]_

Narcissa raised a cool eyebrow.

"You were rather engaged at the time. Lucinda Yaxley in the room of requirement," she deadpanned.

_'Ah right. Last month's fuck-gret.'_ Bella scrunched her brain.

The worst had been Lucius walking in on her, hand deep. Bellatrix hadn't realized he'd been Cissa's messenger, requesting audience. Prat boy apparently hadn't delivered the message. Instead, he'd gone tharn and erect. Despite their happy mutual hatred, Bella fucking anyone was arousing. And her indifferent _"Can't you see I'm busy,"_ hadn't helped. He'd stood there too long, watching the slam of an unforgiving handfuck, face-planting Yaxley against the wall. His mouth had fallen open, and he hadn't kept it shut. Clearly, as by dinner both her sisters had known. Pink lips pursed scorn.

"Even in a wasted state, Bella, your control is impeccable. As is your mind. So I assume you can recall troll screwing." Cissa's face scrunched in detestation of Bella's fuck-choice, more so than at the act itself. Apparently, the former trumped her anger toward the latter.

Stubbornly, Bella retained denial.

"It was rather dark?" She bemoaned that autoblivation wasn't possible. Bella had needed an immediate outlet. And the Yaxley girl was easy. Just not particularly on the eyes. Drunk, it had seemed like a decent decision.

"Uh huh. You were plastered, not blinded, Bellatrix."

Bella hadn't nicked McGonagall's prime Firewhiskey since. Lesson learned…until next month.

_[Minerva both fumed and winced. For many a reason.]_

They both moved on, neither keen to dwell on the image. Blooming. Back to blooming. Bella had been there for Cissa's quickening, the grass-tussle into existence it was. Their bond had begun far earlier, of course (seeds sown in childhood). But this was more. This was more than familial sensing at useful times. This was full access between them. Internally, Bellatrix scowled, aggravated she'd been unaware of the completed connection. But then again, she hadn't been looking for it. Apparently, she'd been coquetting with cunt at the time. An awkward silence. Even Bellatrix (usually friend to the uncomfortable) had the urge to fill it. Throat rasped oddly.

"Firewhiskey?" Lip quirk.

Unclear, if this was offered as sheepish excuse, or as an apropos solution to their strange moment. To this, Narcissa said nothing. She spoke nothing but hand, rising to cover Bella's, perhaps in palliation. But sky could not shut windows and Bella saw the turmoil in silent façade. The struggle Cissa had undergone. Alone. Bella couldn't focus on the primary, only the practical.

_'Oh, just bloody fuck it all to hell. The idiot child, skirt fucking or not…for cussed…' _

"Heaven's sake, Cissa," Bella hissed. "You stupid stupid fledgling child, you're supposed _tell_ me when you…_expand_. Y-you could have…I could have…"

The straining voice rasped terror, knowing the consequences of untrained Blackblood as it grew. Bloodrite in youth was susceptible to all sorts of dread. It was the reason beyond academia, as to why Bella continued at Hogwarts. Not that she minded. Cissa was the reason she _continued_ at all. In rare vulnerability, the dark witch clung affection at her sister. Sudden murmurs into a temple bore teeth and wild.

"You promised-_fucking_-promised to let me monitor. To let me…as it grew…"

Suddenly muffled in a curling mane that ate her face, Narcissa was inappropriately amused. She pushed away, space for eyes. And finally surfaced quiet speech.

"I didn't want you to worry. You have OWLS coming up."

OWLS. Bloody OWLS. Still. It felt off to Bella. Cissa was not thick. Nor that considerate. Only young. So very young.

"Cissy…" The warning whisper doubted. _'There must be other reason.'_

Even as Bellatrix thought this, Cissa bombed into her chest, suddenly buried. The embrace should have toppled them over, into the grass. Instead, it slammed into Bella's surprised solid and shivered. Arms suddenly under her own, and frantic eclipse searched blood. And Bella couldn't help but return such emotion, despite the elusive cause. Despite the wind knocked out of her. Confounded, Cissa's grip was oddly forlorn (and then Bella knew) and rather acknowledging of _yets_, which were not quite theirs. The witch nearly broke all her resolves. Nearly burst open that cache of sunlight, kept riveted down, walled in her tornado shelter. Pandora arched for spill and Bella's veins hurt. They screamed in pump as she fought, denied, and forced the cracked cellar door to fasten. Frenetically, but forever weakened, padlocks bolted shut. Bella cursed violently. In that damning embrace, her shaking lips caressed gold strands, hands making them both rocking chair. Incredulity then, caked Bella's undertone, in factual statement.

"Is_ that _why…why you've been unbearable to _me_? As Andy fades, when I...others…you're_ jealous_. Fuck, Cissy, I was jesting, but you're actually resentful. You detest I seek others in any way tender." _'Or not.'_

Bell tone fluctuated between eureka and 's couldn't help but snap eyes to the other issue, across the yard. Bella's followed.

"And you abhor that I seek Minerva's guidance." The shock worn away, Bella soothed — lullaby intonation surrounding them. "Jealous, even as your full blooding approaches near, binds us…" The last bit only mouthed, _"In lo—" _Bellatrix was unable to finish sentiment to herself, let alone Cissa. She kept it the unheard. Speaking made reality. Reality was not yet.

Narcissa lowered eyes as Bella pulled out her innards and strung them for salting in the open. Finger pads and Cissa traced a sister wrist in response. In her emotion, skin tripped an involuntary trigger. Untrained, the blonde was unable to weir the flooding release. Despite all retention and scratched efforts. Horrorstruck, she attempted to scoot away, to find bark of tree to ground her. But in simple reflex, Bellatrix held fast. Too much touch and magical veins cracked, stopped concealing. One fell swoop and they undammed, split open. Much like a failed Occlumens, Cissa spilled her soul. Only Bella hadn't attempted at Legilimency. But apparently innocent touch had. Blood opened and waterfall dumped database on Bella. (_Heart pumped red and ripped out confused ache. Hurt lusted, and cerulean clanged at pillowcases, gripped in white knuckles.) _Embrace against those curls only made it worse. Undeniable. And soundless scream siphoned out of Cissa. Her mouth mimed at resonance, agony eating the fabric of Bella's shoulder. Her soul bared by accident and she couldn't curb it. Bellatrix had no choice but to bask in the smack, the utter feeling…utterly _Cissa_. Information thunked her everywhere, soul-soldering into DNA, never to unbind again.

_'Sunrays dying. Sunrays flying.'_ This summation Bella made, as she smoked high, stoned in a sister's spirit.

There was nothing to be done for undoing, as Cissa coursed through them. Chaos, compulsion, clamor, confusion…craving. So Bella did as she always had done. Rode it out. Protected. Hushed and shushed. Brushed lips to gold, brusque the whispers of that miserable mantra.

"Hold out, my sweet, hold out. Soon."

And Cissa hoped so. But rather was unsettled on what the hope was for. Only that it was. December's winter ball had only touched at this quandary, even kissed it. But the full impact of _meaning_? Oh that lived now. That nasty issue of untangling bloodrite from stellars. Neither of which Bellatrix was keen on, considering Cissy's age. She could sigh in some relief, as the girl's comprehension was not yet full in nuance. Not nearly. But it was enough to steal some innocence. Enough to alert Cissa to some sort of nuance. It was enough to seal share. And the dark witch regretted that Cissa had bought stock, shares in this burden, this incest. Their family heirloom: autonomous call to consummate with kin. But although blood prompted, Bella and Cissa felt beyond its requirements. This was not to be the normal family secret (one of the normal fuck-shows, consanguine and condoned in silence). This played at star-crossed stellars. Worse, she was cognizant Cissa had yet to grasp such. Perhaps that was best for now. For Bella knew the eventual course of fruition. It did not portend well.

She recalled: it hadn't been this way with Andromeda. It was true; Bellatrix and Andromeda had never confused their own affections toward one another. Emotionally fraught, twisted, amorous, darkened as their bond was, it was still _sisterly _(in the Blackest of sense),though fiercely possessive, on Bella's part. Unspoken between the two, they had on and off affairs, recurring as strange lovers, enduring as sisters. Though in past years, it had been far from _loving_. Simply needing. More like hate-fucking. But despite the continuous quarrel, sisters they were always. And sisters of the House of Black loved each other _differently _than most siblings. On Andromeda's part, the infatuation was reluctant. Bellatrix had reveled in it. Once, and Bella might have been content for this to be the love-like-thing in her life. But Andy was not. She wouldn't fully accept the bond and Bella wouldn't take less than full. So for Andromeda's sake, she had cut intimate ties. Despite the heartache. Bella knew the less bound the middle was to elder, the better. Still. Theirs had been a rather imperfect love. And no one had understood her, quite like Meda. Not then at least. But Cissa had surpassed Andy in this way.

Now, Bellatrix regarded the sister entwined in her arms; foreshadowing thoughts circled as inklings, striking her. Narcissa, however, was alternative in her affections. The girl had always held elder sisters in high esteem, idolized them (Bellatrix in particular). Meda had politely ignored the situation, preferring to believe unspoken things didn't exist. But due to the nature of age, little Narcissa had remained alone at Manor Noir whilst her sisters boarded at school. Bellatrix hated. Hated that she and Andy had left the child confused to her own darkenings. And with none there to guide her (parental beatings didn't count) blood cravings had preyed and stellar had brewed. Once at Hogwarts, Bella for her part had done best to discourage it (despite all the while licking lips). At first, she'd deemed it a schoolgirl crush, inconsequential fangirling. But years proved differently. Star watching rock had known. In denying depths, she'd known. Cissy's affections had not weaned as expected. Nor had her own; it'd only grown. As protector (as hunter), Bellatrix could not fathom how to shield Cissa from themselves. Within the Black clan, incest (consensual or otherwise) was far from uncommon; Bellatrix knew this firsthand (cruel hands). But she wanted her sisters to stand tall as lighthouses before the eventual tsunami hit. So instead she walked in darkness for them.

_True_ infatuation amongst Black would not bode well. It never did. Interestingly enough, it was not a struggle for most Black heirs to reconcile craving their own kindred. It was just a thing done. Outside lovers were not seen as conflict. It was normal, _expected_ even…the whole pureblood marriage bit. However, Cissy (for one) did not enjoy the thought of sharing Bellatrix, with anyone. She just didn't recognize _why_. And thus, Bella trod more lightly with her youngest sister. She would not capitulate to their desires. But nor would she attempt to extinguish their hearts. And blue eyes were still so fawn. So Bellatrix continuously quelled bloodlust (even if there was more to pickle than simple lust). With this in mind, she imparted lies. She loosened their embrace. Broke her own code and laid down lies.

"Second rule: channel such affection _elsewhere_, if only for your own sake, Cissy. Passion is merely a part of our bloodbond. But do not misunderstand our darkest needs." Words husked, Bella unable to mask that.

Narcissa blushed at Bella's frank speech. Despite her lies, Bellatrix too knew the fine line of Cissa's craving. Despite her words, she knew the girl didn't believe her. But falsity had to remain as barrier between.

_'Cissa. Cissa. Cissa. Cissa.'_ the mind whispered. No _indeed_, it did not bode well. So, Bellatrix locked away the taboo affection, as she had so many other times. But _this _was not the problematic issue at hand; right now Bellatrix could manage the blood longing, the involuntary fervor calling her as lover to youngest. Currently, it was the otherstrange affection she found most dangerous. Foreign. That heated desire to belong and form niche with her mentor. Bella had learned early that sex was an easy way to belong. To punish. An easy way to give, take affection. In that twisted way, wanting such intimacy with the woman had nothing to do with romance at all. Not at all. Sex meant many things to Bellatrix. But with Minerva the craving was safety, mentorship in kind. Still, in its refusal to remain captive, such desire played havoc with her usual control. Thus, Narcissa found herself voyeur and followed Bella's gaze, now hotly caressing the distant form of McGonagall.

"Besides," Bellatrix went on, "I know you somewhat fancy the rat-prat Malfoy,as well." The unspoken words _"…as me"_ were understood. And flirted with disaster. She eyed Narcissa curiously, satisfied as her sister flushed reds. And in paradox to all her efforts, she pushed. Half-hoping for calamity. "But fear not, Cissa-mine, you'll find your blood desires dark, as does mine. Think me merely a guide, dear…along for a grin. We share that which _she_ cannot begin to comprehend." Bellatrix's eyes turned tempest as her eyes set winds upon Minerva, and spoke of Andy.

A moment in silence passed. And Bellatrix smirked at the adrenaline heart, pumping loud. She felt it. She felt everything. Steadfastness. Resolve to protect her charges from ill, even herself. Black. A dark hoary abyss; the only niche found in this empty world. Yet repugnance lingered, a self-disgust. Lust rampaged (for blonde sister darks). The softest smell of love.

_[Minerva quite felt like dying. This lifetime of Bella's feelings was grueling. She exhausted after swimming for only short moments. In her mind, the professor thought this was drowning. Overwhelming suffocation, by the deep-sea carried in Bella's soul at all times.]_

Hooded eyes turned and regarded skyblue carefully. Unexpectedly, Bella's mouth pulled savagely toward Narcissa's, as insides betrayed her into action. At the last second, trying to spare them, she hit a flushed cheek instead. However, she still managed to nip the corner of Narcissa's mouth, which released a blessed and quiet moan. Bella caressed blond hair fleetingly. Their foreheads touched together. Narcissa let a lone tear slip out. It washed away her soft whimper and rang sweet symphony in Bella's ears. And prompted. Pale finger caught it and savored the salt on tongue. Cissa settled on a safer, but no less damaging, topic.

"Meda's le-leaving us to the dark. _Alone_. Bells, I feel her bloodpull, even now, it—" Cissa couldn't say.

Bella could.

"…lacks the darkness, yet retains the bond. Barely. Oh, I _know_. Though, Andy did try. You _must _know, Cissy, that for our sake she tried." Bellatrix finished bluntly, recalling mirror shards and wet hands. Recalling Meda's failed attempts to lure darkness. Those nights when she'd cried in Bella's arms, for seemingly no reason at all.

At her words, a dry sob heaved through Narcissa's small frame. Bellatrix embraced her, smoothed hair and kissed tears (much as she had another sister years before). More developed in her Blackrite than the younger, Bella felt Andromeda's remote anguish run through blood. Andy had apparently felt that of her sisters, so strong it was. Bella called out, pushing the shadows toward the witch. But the direct call remained unanswered, as it had for a month or so now. She had…experimented. She had concluded. Andy didn't feel the call of darkness upon her back, didn't feel lusty blood raring to roar. No. It was clear Andromeda had not been gifted with dark Blackblood a'tall. The prophecy, Bella knew, was at hand. Andromeda was an aberrant abomination in the House of Black: a child of light. And later, Bellatrix knew it would be the undoing of them all.

She hummed eerily, spinning Black into golds.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> R & R. Let's see who I can count amongst my most faithful.

**Footnote: **_Cissa's débutante ball_ – Not to worries, dearies. You'll be privy to this in a future flashback chapter.

(Credits: _Stevie Nicks_ – Edge of Seventeen, _Gregory Maguire_ – Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West, _Xena: Warrior Princess_ – (S3E12: The Bitter Suite) What's Still Unwritten) *Watch the latter, if you haven't already. It's quite campy and fabulous. Brownie points to those who know which line I borrowed.*


	9. April 1968 II: The DarkLights

Bella and Cissa sat in time, rowing. But at some point the boat turned, and they began to move past woeful moments. Eyes traced patterns in space. Her hums rippled, and Bellatrix acknowledged: Minerva approached, stopping to chat up students along the way. They had a quarter candlemark at best. However, her hold on Cissa refused relinquishment. Sister tears fell for the both of them, leaking when Bella's would not. The fifth-year felt (more than heard) their waning patter; last drops on school robes. Matter didn't care whose. In motion, pale arms comforted the younger. For Bella, offer was easier than take. Clung, like rope to mast, Cissy sheltered in her arms. The storm was passing.

Sun poked sticks through their tree canopy. Warmth seeped through Bella's black robes, eating the light spectrum. They were incongruent with the spring season: long-sleeved with the heavy of winter preparations. However, ample chest peaked, for fashion's sake. (Curving, for power's sake.) But mostly, Bellatrix was adamant, staying away from most forms of sun. She punished herself, her sickness, with long internal winters. She donned garb to match, to remind. Not until the mid of May, or the first bolsters of heat (whichever came first), would Bellatrix let her shoulders bare, let her legs out. As if this could save them from the taboo of their existence. As if limiting her length of ultraviolet exposure would change the future. Or shrivel her heart. It stopped none of these. And it didn't stop the sizzle of skin.

Spring wind shuffled. And under the tree, blonde hair tangled with black. Dancing. Tranquility fell to them. The steady, the rough of tree beneath Bella's back. It calmed. Narcissa knew that misery was supposed to remain their company: the soon tragedy of an Andromeda situation. But she felt hard pressed to remain gloomy on a day like this day. The snowfall of last week (winter's last buck), had finally gone from the ground. So shy hands rounded Bella's waist, the lazy holiday. Spilling golds, Cissa's cheek laid against that peaking bosom. She thrilled, deserting melancholy. And the blonde blinked shivers, having nothing to do with upset. By chance, lashes flicked a residue tear down Bella's cleavage. Languidly, it rolled. Bellatrix cursed as it tingled. She bit down her lip, to distract; a hold-back. Despite, soft stellars took precedence over familial plight. The change felt statistical in its overlapping Bell curves. Gradient changes, deviant standards. Dark, light, all at once. It was strange. With Cissa nestled in her arms, the darks of blood did not subside. They rather melded in grey stolen-trade moments. Bella's Blackheart remained, but for now it sunned under a tree, mediumed; pumping happy _greys _through veins. Cissa had apparently shared sun. It was an odd combination, Bellatrix decided, to feel both dark and light simultaneously; a _DarkLight_, she supposed.

_'Peace. Does it feel like this?'_ Unaccustomed to the feeling, thoughts questioned rhetorically on her face.

The witch felt peculiar to have escaped the tumbles of her gut. Having owned them most her life, the still was unnerving in its serenity. Like soft spellwork, a gold laugh of happy basted Bella's belly. And Cissy's snuggles, rather adorable, resulted in wry lips from the other. Bellatrix wasn't one to sound her pleasure; hedonistic silence was her usual indication of equanimity. But then bravery found the girl she cradled. Shaking lips placed against the underbelly of Bella's jaw, imparting utter joy. Narcissa was operating on instinct alone and had not yet classified her actions as more than sibling. Even more than Black sibling. That innocent kiss and Bellatrix wanted public indecency against their tree. Sexual frustration and the witch allowed herself emotion. Unexpectedly, the smallest of Bell sounds breathed. She had not planned for the break of her quiet. Cissa reveled in it, heart grasping. That gasp and Narcissa knew it had affected Bellatrix somehow. In fact, her blood had whispered it. She felt dangerous for seconds. Content. Bella became the mental chuckle, feeling her sister fingertip in their veins. She amused fondly, wry at her sister's novel dips into their bond.

_'Silly chit has no idea…'_ And Bella knew she didn't.

The girl was still working on surface emotions. It was developmentally appropriate. She recalled it had taken her months to fully sense Andy and Cissa. The darks would come in time. The youngest Black was only beginning to wade into their family magic. The understanding of nuanced blood messages did not occur overnight. Only practice brought that completeness. Bella supposed their bloodrite was a wordless language of layers, an emotional telepathy wrought with residential spikes. (And though Bellatrix herself was skilled in sending pointedly worded messages, that truly was not the bond's intention.) It took time to understand all the nuances passed between, to see all the colors. And appreciate the wrong. The chin kiss lingered, but dark witch merely clasped the girl to her. For once, arbitrarily, Bellatrix didn't analyze their relationship. She just let them…happen. It occurred to her suddenly: this is what happy felt like. There were complex implications for such a simple emotion. For now she ignored them. She brushed over fact too: this was the first happy found in months. It was easier to focus on practical. On Cissa.

_'Well. Happy. That's simple enough an emotion.'_ Practice. It would begin now for the girl.

Suddenly, inside Narcissa, the day burst chocolate and…

_'Mint…scent of ink?' _Cissa's face scrunched in concentration, learning to translate. Happy. Her sister was happy, she surmised. She delighted as the emotion swam in their veins.

Bella was quiet, proud that girl was learning to navigate effortlessly. She let the emotion swirl through its various shades. Let her sister become familiar with _happy_. But dark dipped, popping blood to smirk. She thrilled at the other parts, which Cissa would come to know. Intimately. Fingers twitched in anticipated hunt.

_'Now won't that just rub Andy all wrong and knotted.' _She purred, imagining this DarkLight satisfaction.

Andy. For seconds, the childhood vision of her sister surfaced. A long ago ravine day — chestnut curled and honey-sparkled. Wide eyes, soft at a magic lily. Soft at Bellatrix. The dark witch sneered. The girl was hurting them. It was in her nature to hurt back. The back of her hand stroked Cissy's face. One day it'd be in both of theirs. Bellatrix had returned to her dark homeostasis (even if holding onto happy). And Cissa didn't need blood to know what put such sneer there. These days, Andy prompted a variety of facial contortions from her sister (none of them pleasant). It was ever with them, this hippogriff in the room. Narcissa had enjoyed her sister's rare frivolity today. But she accepted and craved the nights, sable in their protection. A childhood request sprung from her mouth, one not made seriously in years.

"Sing." Cissa suggested. Requested.

She knew today the chance was great that Bella wouldn't deny this. Here at Hogwarts, without the threat of a sire's punishment, she could cut down her reserves. And so was Cissa's way, reminding Bella it was all right to prefer the night. She knew what she asked. Bellatrix allotted songs for two occasions: nightmares and milestones. Once long ago she had chased away bad dreams with nightmare songs. Her songs were never happy; they cut to truth and drilled through facades. (Even if after the last note everyone snapped back to pretend.) Embraced still, Bella stiffened, rigid as the tree that made their makeshift bench. Dark eyes regarded her kin, ireful fondness rolled into orbs.

"Mark it." The blonde whispered, needing this for some reason. Perhaps just denote this milestone day, when three sisters became two.

A once triad had become two Blacks with an outside sister. Andromeda wasn't gone yet, but shift had begun. For long moments, Narcissa wondered if it would be diatribe or scoff she'd meet. But Bellatrix violently kissed her forehead, half in admonishment, half in anger. Cissa knew this would bear Bella's soul. But as always, they could go back to pretending afterward. Back to imaginations where everything was fine (and unincestuous in the House of Black). And then the rare Phoenix gift, earthly given, escaped Bella's throat. Soft haunting sounds. The voice blew low, shifting with whims of the breeze in their grass game of meanders. The wind blew belled tones in the direction of Professor McGonagall. But Bellatrix paid no mind, as her mentor seemed occupied with a group of Gryffindors, yards far enough away.

_Had a lighter way then, but I've abdicated old throne  
>Had a white heart then, but Black Queen has overthrown<br>And I'm not sleeping now; the dark is too hard to beat  
>And I'm not keeping well, the demons inside eat<em>

The notes grew, caressed, only to dissipate on air, much too low for carry. Cissa solidified in their embrace and absorbed the Black comfort which melody gave. Disturbing truths or not.

_Dark dangers, I play with in my head  
>Touch of your skin, better than lungs breathing<br>And I think back to when: my sister and my sister slept  
>In an unlocked place, never a time we felt safe<em>

Deft fingers ran through Cissy's sunspun silk; she relished the touch upon her locks. Blonde breath was uneven at the first lines, unsure, too sure of meaning. But quick and gone, the song rumbled recollection: childhood, their young sisterhood. The first was long ago lost, and she feared for the strength of the second. The wind blew at them under the tree. It shifted a leafy branch, bantering…the setting sun painting Bella in glows through the break.

_Sunspots have got me, even in months of stone  
>You shine inside when I'm alone<br>And so I tell myself that I'll cast strong  
>Keep this dream lit if you're gone<em>

Bella's breath caught a hitch as she felt, more than saw, mentor eyes settle upon her. Minerva was quite within intimate sight. But Bellatrix made no move to rearrange them to propriety. She quite liked having Cissa wrapped around her, under that gaze. De-icing her in public was addicting. It inclined Bella's bones to hum greedily. Possession, and she rather liked the feel of Cissa as hers, in front of another. Voyeurism, she thought, would have to be explored in future days.

_[It was odd, McGonagall thought, to regard oneself as memory actor. The professor watched her past-form. The form that approached. The form that observed the two sisters embraced under tree. Bella's lulling timbre had captivated keen ears. (Despite human form, Animagus hearing and sight persisted at focused times.) Cissy's tear-tracks, though dried, had alerted her to possible distress. She recalled her jump to care. Current-Minerva proceeded to rebuke past-self. 'Seriously, how thick could you get?' She snorted. 'Distress indeed.' Once more, though years apart, Minerva regarded the tender scene: Narcissa sprawled into Bella. Protégé hands in yellow hair. Faces too close. A professorial wince. 'More like a mess of caress, foreshadowing future undressed states.'] _

Pause. A teasing twirl of her locks. Cissa knew that hair-plotting pull. Too long the lull. Curious (and slightly disinclined), Cissy peeked out from their intimate embrace. No more than minute-lengths away walked her sister's mentor. In the distance, Cissa knew that green eyes would be lilting concern, care. Incredulous, Narcissa turned to Bella, severely worried about decorum and ice reputation. Blacks didn't _do _as they were currently. And Narcissa certainly didn't. Not where eyes could see.

"Oh don't look so wounded, you got your song." Bellatrix chuckled softly, knowing very well what plagued her sister.

The girl's nature was extremely reserved; _shy_ too liberal a word for her Cissa. Such a reticent thing her sibling was. Even now, skies accused with lightening. Bella decided she rather liked heat storms. She wondered if summer would bring thunder more regularly. Between her vocal palms, Bellatrix rolled friction sticks.

"It's not my fault we're in a communal place. You found me, deary, not the other way around. You prompted this little _chat_ in public."

"And you're a harpy, who enjoys indecent exposure." Though their embrace was still sound, Narcissa scoffed, severely miffed.

The dark witch couldn't help her gutter grin, or the waggle of eyebrows. Cissa flushed crimson at her unintended entendre, as it doubled; over in her sister's laughter, and underhand in accidental bawdiness. Scowling, she whapped Bella's side, incensed. The witch snorted. Small thunder booms.

"For heaven's sake, Bella! _This, _we can't. This is…" Narcissa faltered here, nuances still eluding.

Finding the oddest look twisted upon Cissa's face, Bella's laughter fell away. She knew that look. Once upon naive times she'd made that look, before understanding creaked open. Gutter balls aside, lust streaked out her lips and baited her sister's innocence. Partially in serious inquiry to Cissy's understanding. Partially in wolfish meal.

"And just what is _this_, Cissa-mine?" She asked as she had times before. Seduction and hands were firm trails on Cissa's neck. They laid questions at her jaw, curious to the answer. Bella quite enjoyed the gasp of blood, the veins her nails traced softly.

"This is...it isn't meant for eyes beyond sisters." Narcissa stuttered out. Questions intoned between, looking for validity reassurance.

_'I suppose a reduction deduction is one way to go about it.' _Bellatrix mused, sarcasm her porch.

Cissa pressed trembles into those hands. She pressed her current knowledge to the bosom of her sister. It unnerved her, knowing that Bella _knew_. Frantically, the blonde searched sister eyes, a refrain-plea for answer. Oiled orbs chuckled twinkles and flashes of smoke. And hints of soft reminded: answer would not be offered up. Cissa was well aware that Bella wouldn't voice it. Whatever this was. Not until she herself came to independent conclusion.

"Only for sister eyes." Bellatrix agreed softly, pleased (hating) that Narcissa grasped this much.

Bella had her faults. For all her worldliness, she'd rather Narcissa keep naive a bit longer. Internally she winced. A year more of hellish limbo it would appear. Paradoxical, that amongst such debauchery she hung onto the morality of age legalities. It was something. However, if the girl at least had the good sense for discretion, it would make future revelations less precarious. But Bellatrix couldn't help but be ironically tickled. The girl had yet to understand _what_ they were. Let alone link to taboo. It merely was Cissa's prim pureblood shining through. Moreover, the girl's icy nature. Cissy had always saved the best of herself for private. For Bella. Courtyard. This was far from private. Even as the girl clung to her, Narcissa hissed frustrated adolescence.

"I hate you."

_'Ah…wondered when those hormones buggers would reemerge.' _The darker witch bemused. She was relieved to move on from the subject; scaffolding was delicate work. Into that lovely ear Bella rasped.

"Stop with that now…such lies shouldn't taint a mouth as pretty as yours." She rather enjoyed the sight of Narcissa's neck, pulse dancing faster.

Cissy blinked, unable to process that before Bella…

"You're perfectly capable of donning your ice if you must." The whisper switched to riling antics. "So go ahead. Freeze your face, deary. We both know what lays beneath."

Smirking sentiment, dark eyes amused at blue. It kindled Cissa most irately, Bella's arrogance. Furious at the goading, she scrambled out of her sister's embrace to stand. Only to be further irritated when met with a perfectly raised eyebrow, gracing McGonagall's face. The professor had found them.

_[As the staff member on watch, Past-Minerva had intervened as check-up. The involved parties had contributed to this decision, pushing her interceding hand. When it came to Bella (despite all her professionalism) the professor favored the girl. _To an extent she even favored Narcissa_. Dumbledore continuously tweaked her hackles about it.]_

"Mesdemoiselles Black. _Lovely_ day for a tree-side sit, isn't it?" The professor queried, blunt nature entering their realm.

Cissa's face banged back to blank, though aggravation and slight longing covered her soul. As much as she hated their closeness, Bella and McGonagall, she longed for the same. Her sister's mentor had always been kind to her. She had always been prickly in return. The affection was painful in normalcy, one she'd never known. Teaching fingers suddenly touched her face, catching a teardrop Cissa hadn't felt fall.

"Perfect day for an ice thaw, it seems." McGonagall was kind in the April air, in her ambiguity. The last of frosted grass had only dissipated this morning.

Bellatrix chuckled aloud, reminded of why Minerva was allowed Blackrite regard. Such cheek. The woman had an odd way of understating rooms of elephants. In horror, Narcissa felt warmth toward the woman. But blood told further accounts. And unfortunately, Cissa also felt her sister's very fond sentiments. It told lust. But worse it told Bella's affection, a trusting camaraderie with her mentor. Sure, Cissa had known. But she hadn't known quite so intimately.

_'Ah. That won't bode well.'_ Bella cringed, knowing Cissa wouldn't take well to this affective surprise. Neither toward her or independent of.

The protégé stood. Perhaps to keep Cissa's rage company, the ridiculum it was. It occurred to Bellatrix (in theory) that friendship and genuine affection ought not begat fury. But they were Black. Black's didn't befriend. Brainwashed to some degree (despite Bella's efforts) Cissa was still a product of their upbringing. Affection was thought weak in the House of Black. And familial-familiar culture was easy fallback for the girl; a steady ground, never mind how dysfunctional or slanted ground was. Anger was easier to deal with than the actuality of caring. For Narcissa to actually acknowledge fondness toward Minerva? Deadly rapids; certain death for ice. Instead, denial was the frozen river for Cissy, allowing exquisite defense mechanisms. And still far off, the girl didn't understand her need for Bellatrix. That furious pull to possess her eldest sister, an affection of different sort. Bella wondered how much of all this was denial. She wondered how much of it was innocence. She wondered how much of this was damage. In the moment, Bellatrix hated her parents with suddenness. Despite her poking, Bella knew why Cissy raged at the world these past months. The world had seen fit to neglect them. Find them in wrong ways.

Hair-tussled-Cissa stared at her sister, feeling nothing and everything. She knew this was effect of her recent bloom. She let Bella feel it. Strands blew wayward with utter fury and hurt. Too much to hold, she focused on the easy target: McGonagall. Blacks weren't supposed to love. Ally strategically, quench lust with lovers, make casual friends? Yes. But true affection? No. Well, that is not _outside_ the clan. Lust. Cissa had known about the lust; it was expected of the bloodrite. And as were most Blacks, Bellatrix was but a creature of lust, and did so after many. But Bellatrix. Their Bella. Her Bella _cared _about McGonagall? On principle Cissa simply abhorred it. Especially when she couldn't have Bella all to herself. When she couldn't have any normal affection to herself. Nostrils flared. The blonde had strange urge to throw Bellatrix against that tree and fall upon her in…anything. It scared her and superseded all other emotions of the moment. Magic prickled agony, the feeling too powerful to house. Wide-eyed, blood flailed force in too many directions. She scrambled for Bella's eyes.

_[Minerva both remembered, and again now felt, the encompassing intensity. The sisters locked gazes, as if holding Narcissa steady. At the time, she had chalked it up to some sort of situational emotion, adolescent and petty. She had been wrong.]_

Bella's wit was quiet in watch, in discovery of their bond in full (uncontrolled as it was). Blood popped and cooked. Smelling steam, she knew Cissa's meandering thoughts, their staggering maze. The last thought was most crucial and concerning. Still, blood swirled seductively. Briefly her eyes fluttered in sable sensation, in adoration. The darks her sister unknowingly pushed through them. If they created such passion as this, Bella wanted to piss off her sister forever. Achingly, she thought Narcissa beautiful in rage, eyes cutting and hair tangled. Such fervor lay under that ice countenance.

Her sister's lips flushed in involuntary desire. It pulled too much, wrought risky syringes in arteries. In times like these, Bellatrix regretted the presence of a conscience amongst her id. She would have much rather tripped the girl to ground, with sheathed fingers thrusting passionate imperatives. But Cissa was still young. And the pressing issue was the magic, emotions too large for Cissy's mind and her magical core. Scaffolding was one thing, finding that growth edge. But too long in this state and the untrained girl would damage herself. From her end, Bella wrangled their bond, wielding when Cissa could not. She curbed sanguine as much as she could. The witch scrounged for personal restraint, even as she reined them in. She memorized the image; blonde mussed mess, glaring and lovely in wilderness. Her sister was desirable in any type of passion. However, control was urgent for now and for as long Bella could hold out. Time, they needed time. As always, this was the immoral time and the wrong place. A mental snort of levity. In front of her mentor no less. Luckily for them both, Bella was master at parading secrets out in the open. After all, it was the best place to hide them. Bella reached, fingers regarding her sister's disarray of hair. She looked a bit like a stupefied sun; blonde strands stuck up from emotion, from the physicality of their earlier embrace. It was too tacit an atmosphere, laden with internal processes. Having had enough of elusive silent games, the professor took her in.

"You two. Whatever is the mat—"

"Cissa, you've come undone." Bella spoke purposefully, rude ambiguity interrupting Minerva's opening sounds.

McGonagall hissed, having had enough of the dodging.

"Unwise, Miss Black. Consider yourself in detention…next Hogsmeade weekend."

_[Minerva had to chuckle at her past aggravation; narrowed and murderous eyes were talisman of her pet peeve. She did hate to be interrupted. Bella knew far better than to do so in public.]_

The so-named pointedly ignored her, prompting mentor's eyes to catty slits and feline indignation. However, compared to bloodrite issues detention was but the buzzing annoyance of a fly. Instead, she spoke to Cissa.

"Come here, I'll bind you for now."

Cissy needed this; the girl was crawling out her skin with bloodletting emotion. But even so, Bella's words spoke contrary to wish; they anticipated unbound futures. She also knew her sister annoyed at the offered comfort; it had always soothed, Bella's hands in her hair. And despite tangled emotions (despite McGonagall) it soothed Cissa now. She acquiesced, letting Bella's arms pulled her close. Hands were unapologetic as Bellatrix nimbly untangled and then began to plait. They were merely reality. Fingers wisped Cissy's neck in habitual rhythms. Bellatrix thought that the neat-braid control was a pity in twine. The symbolism was not lost on her. Not as Narcissa shook in recontainment efforts, and gripped her sister's skirt in grounding. She took longer than necessary, undoing and repeating braid sections, for no practical reason. But finally, the long braid completed and fell to Cissa's back, tail-end waves touching waist. She let her hands fall around Narcissa, coming to rest on stomach; a behind embrace with chin settled on shoulder.

"All done, Cissy, it'll hold for now. Hold it back, for as long as you need. I'll redo it again. Everyday. Until you want it out." The whisper was steady pledge, profound in its undertones. It wasn't the braiding that did it. That was merely the guise, the physicality of Bella's blood remedy.

The professor rather hated this talent of Bella's, to speak layers. And Minerva hated not understanding the essential ones. It was only Cissa's lip tremble that kept the professor from diving back in. Bellatrix knew Minerva saw it, despite her masked face, stern in professor hat. Those green eyes were observant confusion. And before the professor could speak again with intervention too intimate, Bella's eyes caught hers. Violet pools implored silently. This accompanied hand in gesture, stalling any forthcoming words from an irritated and concerned professor. Lips pursed, McGonagall nodded, an uncharacteristic assent of Bella's request. Deeming the situation too complex and private, but not dangerous, Minerva allowed Bellatrix leniency to resolve as she pleased. In response, her student ducked her head faintly in graceful bow; a returned acquiescence. A thanking-smile quirked small to her apprentice's mouth.

Not without keen eyes, Cissa's emotion appeared to reflourish slightly, triggered. She abruptly pulled out of the embrace, violently shivering Bella off her. The touch, the air, the everything was all too much to abide. Bellatrix sighed. Braiding antics evidently only held so much back. And she understood that Minerva was huge trigger. For them both, and multidirectionally it appeared. Unable to remedy that particular issue without suspicion, she pained at the girl's overwhelming deluge. Blood moved at Bella, yelling anger, possession, love, and absolute terror. The terror was most prominent. And at the moment Narcissa was unable to discern between herself and untrained blood. Bella remembered blooming; feeling all the world, beautiful and head-bash terrible at once. It could not go on, not without hurting Cissa's health and magical core. Another tactic then. As she could only allow so much indulgence; Bella would remind Cissy of her proper place in the pecking order of Black. It _was_ for the witch's own good, after all. Her sister's thoughts and ire screamed in their veins. Had it been a less compromising situation, with pride, she might have informed Cissy that her bloodgift was indeed maturing, even if it felt like insanity. But Bellatrix merely gifted Cissa a cool knowing look, and allowed her own fiery blood to surge. Daring her sister to cross her with either word or wand.

Uneasily, the professor watched as the students simply looked at one another for long moments or so it appeared to her. Despite exasperation, she kept her mouth shut. Bella's blood admonished her sister's. Conscious of their meddling audience, Cissa held back a hiss as it stung. Though Cissy glared heavily, she dropped her eyes in submission to Bella's will, allowing her sister to assert dominance. She hated that she allowed it. She hated that she_ craved_ it. Defeated, Narcissa seemed at a loss for words; Professor McGonagall eyed her slumped shoulders with veiled concern. And Bellatrix held out a hand to her sister and gently called to heart, to the blood that pumped through it. She shut her eyes, bathed in red connection. Forever unable to deny her sister, Cissa took the offering, her digits docking in clasping bay. In touch, their minds entered a shared void. It filled with fragmented flashes of communication, and mixed with disorganized dialogue from before. Sentiment passed; things they couldn't say aloud. The summary of things denied and desired.

_[They did not speak, the two Black sisters, but Professor McGonagall knew that words had passed somehow.]_

* * *

><p><em>Bella?<em>

**Here**.

_Where?_

**Here. Don't dwell on it.**

_Do you feel her slipping away, Bella?  
>Andy's leaving us to the dark, alone. Her bloodpull… <em>

**...lacks darkness but clings to the sister bond.  
>I know.<br>Move on.**

_Then...reading.  
>Must we read McGonagall, Bella?<br>Papa will kill you, us, should he find out.  
>I could be a book too. <em>

**Is that jealousy or a threat I detect, Cissa?**

_Neither. Simply fact, sister._

**Denial much? You're jealous, darling.  
>And you don't even know why.<br>Or what you seek me for.  
>Soon, love, soon.<strong>

_I seek nothing.  
>And when?!<em>

_**Black witch, don't make yourself a liar.  
>Remember to choose your games wisely.<br>One day I'll have your everything.  
>We'll have it all.<strong>_

_If you're going to deny verity, then don't presume._

**I don't speak in presumptions, golden sister, only fact.**

_Don't speak of my suns unless you plan to shine there._

_**Elsewhere, Cissy! Channel this elsewhere for now.  
>The world will never accept what we will be.<br>Our timing is crucial.**_

_Whatever this is, we already are. _

_**Incorrigible child.  
>You've gone farther with people you've brushed in the hallway.<strong>_

_If you're going to be unclear there's no need to be rude, you know.  
>Your ambiguity is punishment enough.<em>

_**Then learn to see truth.  
>Be more appreciative of the protection I give.<br>We all have secrets, Cissy.  
>Do not go looking for mine, simply because ours aren't ready yet.<strong>_

_Do you really expect me to stop seeking answers?  
>I will'na lose you! Either of you.<br>And I'm sick of you reading dalliance books and eating trifle pages._

_**You won't find what you're looking for.  
>Not until time is ripe.<br>Until then, I read temporary books.  
>Let me win, Cissa-mine.<br>Age a little and I promise to read you.  
>I promise, I promise…we'll write.<br>A never-ending. **_

* * *

><p><em>[Minerva remembered her own observations. It had been a strange thing; the space between them had appeared normal, void of bodies…void of matter. But Minerva sensed enchantment there, flowing between the two as magical tendrils. Now granted, familial magic was not unheard of. In fact, many decades later, the silent scheming of the Weasley twins would illustrate this (much to their Head of House's vexation). But at the time, the professor had thought it odd, for such magic to exist between siblings so far apart in age, so different in personality.]<em>

The abyss opened to substance as Bella's mind retreated. Cissy was alone for a twinkling in the silent void. But then the world took hold again. She pried open her eyes, Bella's onyx the torque. In vulnerability, this allowed window view to Bellatrix, showcasing swimming fears: losing Meda forever, losing Bella's affection, fear of…whatever was morphing in the House of Black. Narcissa was not a stupid child; she knew when she was being manipulated. However, she also knew Bellatrix was fiercely protective, possessive; the dark witch would do anything to secure her sisters' safety. Cissa did not condone Bella's outside affections (nor her own) but she would not lose her sister. She also would not curb her tongue. Both Bellatrix and Professor McGonagall startled slightly (though for different reasons) at the sudden and clipped ice chips that fell out of her mouth.

"Quite frankly, this page-at-a-time business is idiotic. And let it be known you're infuriating. I won't condone...this." Her eyes flickered away, lingering on McGonagall. "However, it appears I'll abide it, even if your arrogant brain is misplaced." Blues stormed to mist, speaking of tumultuous hail. Piercing.

On the receiving end of her sister's infamous ice-façade, Bellatrix was slightly proud, slightly jealous. She had to chuckle; their youngest always had a way of cutting to the quick with insulting simples. Even as a child, Cissy had always bettered them both in concealing emotion, if she so chose. (Her recent loss of control was only testament to emotional intensity). But even as recipient to Cissa's haranguing agreement, Bellatrix knew it to be a cold front, a stolid igloo built against hurt. Ice-façade or not, Bella had soul trembles; they quaked her longing. She softened, wanting nothing more than to eschew society and the bad timing at hand…and kiss the girl senseless. Hands still clasped, gently. Bella was never one to leave her sister hurting or leave things unfinished. She sang final verse softly.

_'Cause you're calling, calling, calling me home  
>Darks are calling, calling home<br>Sunlights might stop it, turn darks to stone  
>But I shine when we're alone<br>Darks are calling, calling me home_

Far better than the unnerved Transfiguration master, Narcissa understood the words for what they were. Elation swept comets. She and Bella, they would move forward…toward home. Exactly what that meant, Cissy didn't quite know. But she didn't want progress to stop. Still in hand, she flung a heartfelt embrace and buried into that corset. She could smell stars; the touch of curls were spacetime curvatures. Against her ample chest, Bellatrix felt the girl vibrate relief. For seconds she couldn't figure out. But then—

_'Oh Cissa, you thought...' _Stellars hit, weeping in veins. The dark witch clung back just as fiercely, realizing the insecure girl (despite all words) had thought they were done. Choked slightly, Bella made the smallest whisper in her sister's ear.

"For fuck's sake, chérie. We'll need to work on your belief system. It's only time, not termination."

Nervous and close to hysteria, a sharp burst of laugh heated corset. And overwhelmed Cissa placed an almost chaste kiss upon the witch's clavicle; this, her agreement, their seal of a promise. Despite her temperance, Bella's heart leapt blood and lusted within. Of their own accord, gentle hands rose to tangle in golden locks, once again mussed. The professor didn't understand, but felt the tense sisters shift to sudden bonhomie. Never mind Minerva's confusion to the child's words, she was at least pleased that_ some_ sort of reconciliation had occurred.

_[Incredulous and watching, McGonagall wanted to smack her past-self towards clue. In memory they were all but sucking face.] _

Bella whispered barely, but this time Minerva heard her odd words.

"Meda. She's ours for now. And you're mine. You will'na lose me, Cissa. Though, I can't promise I won't lose myself. We'll move on and along." The protégé muttered a bookmark, closing chapter for now. "Move along now, sun."

Cissa nodded into her eldest, lingering there for moments, indulging the self. When she pulled away, the ice princess was back in court. Professor McGonagall marveled at the transformation. Narcissa turned, her first overt acknowledgement of the professor's presence. She nodded cordial greeting and apparent goodbye, leaving on foot without backward glance to either Bellatrix or McGonagall. Bella's mouth quirked. Perhaps the girl would learn to show affection after all.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> R & R, my dearies. This chapter marks the last of what I consider backstory. Though we will remain in memory-land for a long while longer, plot becomes more evident.

**Translation:**  
>- <em>Chérie<em> (French) - Dear, darling, cherished.

(Credit: _Ellie Goudling _– Lights)


	10. April 1968 III: Metamorphosis

**Author's Note I:** A special snowflake thanks to_ beforeyouspeak. _In reward for your overwhelming patience and support, I gift you all with this ridiculously long chapter. Enjoy, my pretties.

**Nutshell Recap: **Complexities in the House of Black continue to complicate. Andy's connection to sisters wanes, while Cissy's blackrite waxes. As Bellatrix endeavors to keep Narcissa safe (from themselves and other demons), naive Cissa slowly gains awareness as to her peculiar relationship with her sisters, but especially Bella. Our unintentional voyeur, Professor McGonagall, suspects...many things. She continues to piece together past and present into future. This chapter picks up in the courtyard, directly after Cissa's exit in the last chapter.

* * *

><p><em>[Minerva fused with her past-self and they were as one. The world no longer played before her, as muggle movie might. Rather now, she was actress in her own memory.]<em>

Under the tree, silence commenced for a short length and somber mood resumed upon her apprentice's face.

"Teenage hormones?" McGonagall jested, trying to lighten the shade. "Or did the trees eat something funny today?"

The Slytherin considered their canopy and snorted. Minerva had the uncanny ability to make her laugh, however dire the situation.

"Something akin to that. Simply, a Black sibling…_matter_."

The word _simply_ tasted oxymoronic. On the rare occasion Bellatrix might lie outright to others (an indulgent pastime). But never to Cissa. And never to Minerva. However, in regard to her mentor, Bella had rather perfected the avoidance of important truths. And from pursed lips and doubtful eye, it was clear the professor was well aware. Sardonicism fell out her mouth.

"I gathered as much, Miss Black, I do have eyes and a mind you know."

Probing eyes penetrated, considering response. Bellatrix moved, lifting her satchel from beneath the tree. She shouldered it in balance, checking it on hip. Book was stored slowly within the large pocket; a best practice in securing time for thought. Fingers caressed the tanned strap, before lifting it overhead. It drew diagonally across her chest, taut and leather. Fondly weathered. Bella straightened, now armed. From her stance, Minerva half expected arrow quiver to boast on the witch's back, not academia storage to rest at side. But then again, she had gifted the satchel to the girl. Perhaps even meant it as an armor of sorts, weapons of knowledge; points with which to keep the world at bay. To back them away. Her back was to the professor. But back to her professor she made.

"So glad to ascertain your features and brain are well in order." Flippancy jacketed those eyes. "But alas. You require too much of me, Professor."

Her words were with Minerva, but her mind still burned with Cissa (sunned and sunned and starred). And should she let speech out free, let it prompt her without runaround, she feared at oversharing. Bellatrix turned now, in the professor's direction. But her face was atypically downcast. Sight of the grass was stabilizing, the touch of soft leather grounded. While she trusted her mentor, she also trusted the woman's infuriating tendency to go Gryffindor and meddle. And Bella was neither keen to expose nor revisit the vulnerability Cissy wrought upon her. Not yet. Not to McGonagall. Not yet. The woman would only do something stupid. Like try to fix or become boggle-eyed at the Black family…connotations. So grass. She stared. Calmed. Willed her eyes back to normal under the protection of grass blades (grass days). Cissa. The thought of, and Bellatrix couldn't help but smile. Someday she wouldn't need to hide. They wouldn't. Pointed boots greeted her gaze; the professor had neared. Bella's skull imploded at the firm but gentle touch pressing her chin upward. McGonagall did not understand her apprentice's blackened eyes, but she surely felt the intensity pierce her own.

"I think you require too much of yourself." The offering was kind, serious in kind. Probing.

The hand upon chin turned to caress, smoothing care upon Bella's cheek. And despite the uncomfortable survey, her bones hummed in delight and basked in safe feeling. It scared Bellatrix, this safe. Safety wasn't a concept she entertained (it wasn't a concept to which she'd ever lay claim). Nor did she endeavor to live her life within its bounds. She and Andy and Cissa. She and Andy. She and Cissa. There was no such thing as safety in numbers. Only numbers. Only Cissa. The silence strung a clothesline too long, too bare. Concerned, her mentor continued.

"I've an ear, two even, should you ever want for a listen."

Unbalance by the authentic offer, Bellatrix warily met mentor eyes. She couldn't recall the last time someone offered table space to share her burdens. Andy had become self-absorbed. And Cissa. Well. Cissy offered solace in her own clueless ways. It was the insistent comb in Bella's post-bath tangles, accompanied by one-way chatter. The nightstand crumpets left with adolescent haiku — and silly limericks for those particularly dreadful days when hunger wasn't apparent. And hands that corrected Potions' homework, inking love in margins. It amused Bella, the naïve courting. Not the sentiments (never those), but more so Cissa's absence of understanding in her actions. Bellatrix appreciated but was careful with the spirit of these gifts. She longed to let the blonde in and talk of the monsters that walked inside…but the chit wasn't ready. So despite her own impatience and covetousness, she rather hoped to allow her sister a childhood. Before…just before. Surprising herself, even as the words fell out her mouth, Bellatrix replied sans banter.

"Some things are better left to burden only one." She spoke this as solid, but felt a waver in steadfastness. Perhaps Professor McGonagall picked up on the fault lines.

"Come, Miss Black…this is no place for such talk."

Fuck. She hated talking. And Bellatrix remembered _why _she stuck to a caustic normal. However, it _was_ true; this was no place for non-talk either. Curious eyes in the courtyard had begun to gravitate toward them. Though Bella didn't care much for the idle gossip that might result, privacy did have its benefits. Before she could release a word, the Transfiguration Master grasped her hand with purpose. And then they were gone, a cloud of disapparition leaving the courtyard and prying eyes far behind. Amid the whirlwind, the witch hid her surprise. Apparition on Hogwarts grounds was supposedly an impossible feat. But it did not surprise her that if it _were _possible, McGonagall _would_ have mastered it.

With a loud **CRACK**, they reappeared in the professor's private quarters. The setting sun hovered on the horizon, rays casting shadows through the windowpane. Minerva's private chambers appeared afire, golds and burgundy ablaze. Amongst the flames Bellatrix was only half lit (though full wit). The inferno crawled her form in some places, yet others were swallowed by shadowed rust, octopus ink. The apprentice walked, taking in new surroundings. DarkLights coated and fluctuated motion, much like the girl herself. In discovery Bella looked around, occupied and appeasing her retinae. Until now, lessons had been in Minerva's classroom or office. Sometimes the library, often outside by the lake. But never had they been in this intimate a setting. It was the sitting room, she supposed. Subtle homage in burgundy and gold fit its resident, and so Bella reluctantly approved of the décor. (Though she, of course, was more partial to green and silvers.) Voice brought her back to attention as McGonagall continued their conversation.

"I disagree with your theory, _mo rún_. Ya came to me earlier this year, with these…_burdens_." _Màthair_ tongue rolled, indicative of Minerva's depth of concern.

Curls tightened and tensed at the subject. Bellatrix had neither want nor need to re-examine her January appearance at Hogwarts. Unexpected and bloodied as it was. McGonagall continued gently but emphatically.

"No one ought undergo those alone. And Miss Black..." A beat. "_Bellatrix_, might I remind you, that despite your avoidance of the subject, no one ought undergo that at all."

The professor thought it wise not to mention it more specifically: Bella's refusal to cooperate with the investigation that followed. As was her right. As was Minerva's thorn and worry, respectively in side and inside. Bella tore between several emotions. Utter fear as her mentor brought back to speech that which she had eradicated from mind (buried deep and deep and down). Yet utter delight. As this, the first time her name lilted off mentor tongue, in context other than roll call. Or detention. Under Minerva's steady gaze and gentle hand, Bella's trembling emotions manifested similarly in body.

"Professor…" She trailed off in dark warning, perhaps in need as well.

McGonagall took inventory of her protégé. Bella's eyes were wide with unidentified emotion. The usual coal seemed to shine with undertones, hesitating shimmers. Face was slightly flushed, though the rest of her seemed to have paled. It made the fading bruises upon her form ever more stark. Under hand, Minerva felt the girl's chin quiver. And again, she wondered as to whom the girl was protecting, despite her inner turmoil. It didn't occur why the girl had chosen now, of all times, to confide (however slight that confidence was).

"I'll not pry deep, Miss Black, but you _must_ give me something. I am your master, you my apprentice. If something pains you, I must know…if only for our discipline's sake." It was true. Throughout history, emotional wizards practicing Transfiguration had met nasty ends. "I won't have you injured. But truly, Bella, more so, I want to know."

At this, Bellatrix spoke before she could hold back. The sobriquet short-circuited self-control, more than she would ever care to admit.

"Why, what possesses you? Why would you ever want to know me and my…_darks_?"

For her part, Minerva was surprised. This, being the most insight her student had ever offered up. True, the eager girl of twelve had slowly dissipated, replaced by a brooding and arrogant witch of nineteen. Likely, this was merely a front for secretive baggage. The professor knew her protégé struggled with _something_ inside of her. But to hear confirmation from lips themselves, confirmation of darks within…this pained her.

_'Darks.' _Minerva realized._ 'They linger with you.'_

"Bellatrix." Tenderly, the professor cupped her student's face, hoping to break through, and find safe passage in a parting cloud.

The girl trembled. Violently. For a fleeting moment, the professor thought the cause was touch…but that was _ridiculous_. (It wasn't). No. More likely it was fear of Minerva's answer. A strange contradiction was her protégé. Bella was ever self-assured in many aspects, supercilious even. But when it came to offering up true-self to the world, she balked…hid. As if unworthy of knowing.

"Why? You mean you don't know?" Incredulous, Professor McGonagall realized that Bellatrix _didn't_. It saddened her thoroughly. The young woman felt darkened to such extent that the idea of professor genuinely caring for charge was foreign in idea. "Because I care, Bella, I care." Green implored, trying to convey.

TThe words struck Bellatrix, usurping her fail-safes. She felt her control trip and her eyes quipped magenta without permission. She cracked her bones into it, knowing it was best to just accept the magic. But so much for concealment — there it was in the open. And there Minerva was baffled. The professor brushed it off as fluke, heightened emotions and all that. The lighting. It had to have been the lighting. But then more importantly, surprise became focus. Bellatrix placed her hand over the professor's still upon her face. McGonagall was thrown for a loop as Bella nuzzled cheek further into touch. It was most sensual for Minerva. And the feline Animagus inside, awoke, _intrigued_.

"_Bellatrix._" Professor McGonagall spoke without purpose. Perhaps in attempt to stall the unidentifiable feeling that rose within. It did not help that her student replied with an unexpected familiarity.

"Minerrrva." Rolling of Rs off young tongue sparked dangerous territory.

Indigo eyes stuck to hers. As did Bella's wry expression (equal parts amusement and trepidation). And so Minerva promptly lost her fluke theory: eyes weren't meant to be _that _color. And Bella was far too…calm (for lack of better articulation). McGonagall froze, wary of encouraging _whatever_ seemed to be occurring, both the colors and the intimacy. But the odd moment passed, leaving both parties entirely unsettled. Hands fell away. And the Gryffindor Head watched as violet sank, absorbing back into coal waters. Keen to avoid the actual discussion Bella continued as if nothing had happened at all.

"You shouldn't care. Not for me." Despite the sneer, longing connotations swung in the Slytherin's voice. "You don't know what I've done. You've no idea what I'm capable of. And most certainly you can't comprehend what still I must do."

Bellatrix fumed at herself, at her backfiring tactic. She hated the word-vomit she couldn't seem to curb. Self-deprecation dressed both her countenance and pacing. She scuffed at the wooden floor, too happy when splinters dislodged with her heels. The destruction felt homey. But then a rather obnoxious ping poked at her heart. So surprised, she nearly chuckled; apparently Narcissa was blooming _quite _well. Bella savored the treat, eyes fluttering in pleasure; the girl's worry popcorned her veins. The slightest lick of lip. (And elsewhere in the castle. A blonde finally relaxed, when feathered magic brushed her neck as kiss and reassurance.) Bellatrix lingered too long, unconsciously touching her lips. She became aware that the room was too silent. Eyes snapped open. And found a mentor most disturbed.

The professor had annoyed at her protégé's destructive habits. But Minerva picked her battles wisely and had decided to let that one go. (Frivolous delinquency in the form of wood destruction was the least of her worries. She'd deal with the bloody floor later.) But Minerva wondered at that strange moment which held too long. It prompted Bellatrix soft, sultry at...something. Something far too reminiscent of the silence exchanged between sisters in a courtyard. Bella blinked, twirled her wand and let them sit in awkward-land. Awkward she could handle. In the sitting room, the two regarded one another: Bella caught with hand in biscuit jar and Minerva knowing those biscuits were the crux of everything. The odd magic just part of the package.

Residual effects. And for the moment Bella was still ajar, vulnerable. She never meant underbelly secrets to peak out in front of Minerva. But Cissa made it difficult in lovely ways. As did her father, in horrific. That last thought and she thought her body disappeared, leaving only fading bruises, shaking breath, and averted eyes. Minerva found herself hard-pressed to reconcile this unsure woman with her quirky and egotistical student. Yet, they were one and the same. And McGonagall suspected this side to Bella existed more often than not, despite her showy confidence. The professor did her best to guide, though she herself felt her way in the dark.

"You are so sure that you must undertake this…obligation. Whatever it may be."

Bella gave nothing. Her face was a board, flat and closed. And the professor knew they wouldn't travel this road any further today. But there was another. And it was a wise move, her next sentence. Levity had its uses.

"Another day then. However. I'd rather wrangle a dragon, let you tar, feather, and call me Pomfrey…" (At this, Bella snorted.) "…before ignoring your magical exhibition. Truly Bellatrix, what ninny do you take me for?"

A muttered "Malfoy" and a huffed "Hufflepuff" escaped sulking lips. The professor didn't quite know whether to laugh or dock points. Enjoying this banter with apprentice, she opted for neither.

"Miss Black," said Minerva with fond exasperation. "Even Lions notice when eyes spout Technicolor." Fingers idled with themselves, clear and back to academia.

At this Bella pouted. How like McGonagall, to put it out in the open. A moment. The pupil consideration. And Bellatrix decided she could spare to lose this particular secret. And truth be told she was having difficulties controlling it. Emotionality seemed to prompt it wayward. Perhaps tutorage would be beneficial. Choice made, Bellatrix pulled her magic forward. Show-and-tell eyes rose to the occasion and painted heliotropes with human lids for frame. Her eyes mixed violet — this color the easiest to accomplish as its emotion was never far (singing squalor amongst the fairest of flowers. Sunning the dirty laundry. And folding taffy in haunted fairways). Bella brimmed over with magic, eyes just convenient conduits. But she made clear to McGonagall that it wasn't accidental magic. Just highly attuned to her mood. By running through basic emotions (and therefore a palate of colors), she showed it could be steady and deliberate. Bellatrix worried her lip, gnawing when she had to squint on the crimson. Reds required a more difficult emotion. One less accessible. One less practiced. For now.

For the professor, understanding cracked into partition: _too much_ separated by the wall of _too little_. The lighting in the room was clear. And by no chance would McGonagall blame the demonstration on fluke. It was clear that magic beyond ordinary manifested in her apprentice. Lost in thought, the professor must have taken too long to reply. For when she came to, Bella's eyes were cold, her demeanor hard and clipped. The professor confused until she glimpse the smallest tremble of lip…awaiting rejection. Gobstruck she pulled her charge to her, conveying the opposite. A mound of curls tucked black under Minerva's chin, much like a midnight earlier this year. She felt protégé arms latch onto her cloak hesitantly, before succumbing to relief and exhaustion's desire. Bellatrix held fast onto her mentor. It was safe. She didn't understand safe. This environment of arms built anxiety, a fortress she wasn't used to having. And inside, the blonde in castle tugged on blood, casting apprehension and comfort toward Bella. It tasted of blue, both bells and berries. She would have to work on a shield so as not to blitz the poor girl with emotions quite so often.

"If you could only see how blue her eyes can be." Hoarse with effort, and perhaps long denied verbalization, Bella's voice was thick with reverence. The whisper expelled softly, turmoil sentiment bathing the professor's shoulder.

McGonagall had no clue to meaning, but it only mattered that lips shared this clandestinity with the line of her neck. The professor bent inside, suspecting that this was the tiptoe of berg, an ice mass her student perpetually drowned on a daily basis. Curling mane rested in the crook of her neck; the Slytherin had grown tall in these past years. And against the sturdy form of her professor, Bellatrix shuddered unspoken emotion, having disclosed a precious piece of soul. Practiced hands held her close, twirling curls amongst their fingers. Her own hands tried not to comprehend the strength and curves of the body beneath them. Bella's breath alternated between comforted and quickened.

_'What storms rage inside you?'_ The older witch wondered.

Finally, the moment came when silence was no longer an option. Still embraced, Professor McGonagall addressed the mass of curls.

"This cannot go on, Miss Black. This…this _unease_ you contain. It's consuming you."

It was a vague reference. But vague ideas were all she had. As a mild scoff sounded through her cloak, Minerva knew the apprentice was unimpressed with her words. She changed course.

"_Bellatrix_…" She implored.

The witch guessed her apprentice weakened upon her spoken name; the tremble within embrace confirmed it. It was an odd thing, the power of name. Minerva refrained from asking herself what caused Bella's capitulation, her name, or the one who spoke it. But Lion or not, McGonagall was not above manipulation; not if the means achieved end: keeping her protégé safe. As safeguard, Bella closed eyes against the Scottish voice. It pulled at places inside where she rarely ventured. Silence. The professor tried again.

"Bella…"

Resolve cracked most suddenly and eyes broke open.

"What would you have me do, Professor? Confide my _soul_ to you?"

At this, Bellatrix pushed away from the kind embrace. But the cold absence of comfort became strong. She paced within the chamber, a blacker form amongst red and gold. A familiar headache made itself known within Minerva's skull. But at least some semblance of Bella's biting sarcasm had returned. This was promising.

"If it pleases you, then yes. But more so I would have you confide something to anyone. To _someone_. If not me, then a sister perhaps? What of Andromeda?" Minerva considered. Worded carefully. "Your Cissa?" The girl had matured enough to act as confidante.

Bella's roving froze mid-step as her mentor tapped a precarious nail. Eyes pierced. The woman's particular phrasing caught her.

"I already _confide_ in her, in them, too often. Salazar knows I cannot help it." The last phrase whispered desperately.

It was the eyes, the elder witch realized, that truly spoke volumes. In them, she saw disgust, longing…and secrecy. It was quizzical, her student's proclivity for semantic riddles. Professor McGonagall recognized this as one of those times. But Bellatrix was a puzzle that refused to be solved.

"Then confide in me."

Much to Minerva's bewilderment, Bella smirked and muttered under breath.

"Why believe me, Professor, I would very much like to _confide _in you."

And the Gryffindor had distinct feeling they weren't speaking of the same thing at all. No, not at all. It appeared her student was to remain an unyielding wall. But then the unexpected and crack appeared.

"Narcissa is under erroneous impression that I, as eldest sister, exist for her very entertainment and momentary whims. She dislikes my split loyalties. But she has…reason." Vexation and fondness were liberal in Bella's tone. As was vagueness.

Minerva blinked at the abrupt disclosure and turn of conversation. But still, it was improvement (even if McGonagall was well aware of the layers hidden between each word). She swore the girl was better encrypted than the best of uncracked codes.

"And Andromeda is...Meda. Andy. For now."

The witch didn't know what to make of such statement. But wisely she did not ask Bella to elaborate.

"And what of you, Bellatrix, what of _you_?" She did, however, ask this.

"I am neither one thing nor the other." The apprentice faced the window, lightly tracing its pane and thinking with fingers. "Hard to be, when you're both sister and surrogate for two. And perhaps something else to one. And aye, there's the rub."

It was cryptic, but offered priceless knowledge to Minerva. A reminder that it was always sisters who had hold of Bella's world. It was no accident, the failed mention of other family…their parents. Professor McGonagall's suspicions grew. It was clear to Minerva, something was amok in the House of Black, despite Bella's best attempts to conceal it. She would speak of this to Albus…again.

"Satisfied?" Bellatrix drawled, lazily flicking her wand at the window and heating the glass in one square back to liquid. She made clear the subject of her darks were closed. Surface scratches would have to do.

"Not nearly, but it'll do for now."

Bella frowned at implication, that the conversation was merely suspended, not over. She did not relish a future exchange of the same sort. However, she _did_ relish that it would manifest out of Minerva'_s _affection. The witch could welcome the idea of such thing, even if not the reality. And she appreciated, that for whatever reason, her master had decided to let the matter rest for the time being. Wand danced; the protégé decided that idle wand-work was good for the soul. The professor was less so inclined.

"Could we _not_ liquefy my window, please?" Minerva's drollery recalled previous antics. "While you've tendency to do lovely original state work…" That is solid to solid. Liquid to liquid.

"That I do."

The wand was playful now, blowing amused bubbles and distorting the glass section into unnatural patterns. (Some shapes mildly reminiscent of indecency.) At one in particular, the professor tilted her head and snorted. Poppy would birth cows at that last…bulge.

"Oh don't inflate your head, Miss Black. Your state reversals are all but weapons of war."

Bella huffed. Minerva schooled.

"The previous score of such attempts have been…interesting. And your last was disastrous. I'd rather not have to lobby the Board again on your behalf. Or my window's."

T'was true. While Bellatrix was a most gifted pupil, her personal snag was in the area of CSTR (cross-state transfiguration reversal). That is, reversing transfigured matter back to its original material _and_ state of matter. Water might be the best and safest example. And reason why McGonagall only permitted this category of lesson by the school lake. Far away, you know, from living things. The apprentice could easily transfigure water into wood. But when she transfigured it back the witch often ended up with steam. Or ice. Snow once, Minerva recalled. Not the safest thing, especially as frustration in her student usually resulted in explosion. Bella's mouth pulled singsong quirk.

"I ought be offended, Professor. It was _one_ itty-bitty incident, involving a prat and an igneous rock."

"It was the Chairman's son, Bella." Tone was wry. "And I'm thinking it was less the rock and more so the expansive lava they took issue with."

Chuckles echoed off her walls. The professor scolded.

"And you know very well that the ninth-floor vestibule is still singed. Frankly, I'm surprised you managed but a slap on the wrist." Minerva scoffed. As if detention thwarted any Black. Internally, she rolled her eyes, recalling Albus' twinkles at that particular skirmish.

"Well. I'm sure the Chairman and the other Governors were merely swayed by my…charms." Bella chose deadpan and innuendo.

Despite her professional and feminist self, Minerva did have to admit; it had been satisfying fun — watching a room full of chauvinistic men defeated by cleavage. Not that she condoned, not in the slightest. But it had been something. Never one to loose opportunity for snark, Bella sparked.

"And you can untwist your…there's no need to imagine your chambers overtaken by a glass monster. You well know that glass is not like other solids; I'm just playing with molecules."

"You're picking at a fine line, dear."

Several in fact. But swish of wand and the glass cracked back to normal state amongst its brethren panels. Bellatrix looked over her shoulder, smirking tada and rustling robes.

"Yes. But apparently fine lines treat me well. See." The window was indeed innocent and fine once again. "Do let your knuckles find color, Professor. I just wanted to demonstrate my progress."

Seamlessly, the atmosphere had transformed into their normal routine of master and apprentice. Minerva had let it happen; the girl had been prodded enough today. No longer enthralled by window, the student sought a new objective. Eyes danced along the rows of books, huddled together on the tall shelves lining the room. An ample number of sofas and reading chairs were placed strategically throughout the space. Distracted before, Bellatrix had not noticed the plethora of tombs. A rather disheveled book lived on the sixth shelf of an endless bookcase. Its title caught the witch's eye: **Human Transfiguration: Animagery, Metamorphmagery, & Lycanthropy Lore**. With the flick of wand, it floated towards her, remaining suspended in mid-air. Another flick and paper flipped to page 394 in the invisible wind. Within seconds, Bella had found her next academic target.

It was a curious thing, how their academic relations progressed. Over a shared chess game, Albus had once told Minerva he thought it odd, the lack of concrete curriculum for her apprentice. Accidentally, in mirth the professor had spit out the pumpkin juice she'd been nursing. Pointedly she had asked if he truly thought Miss Black could be contained by something so insignificant as _curriculum._ With a pointed "_Ah…"_ he had moved his knight to safety, away from the juice-spritz gathering on chessboard. However, after that, the Headmaster had allowed McGonagall free reign and no longer questioned her teaching methods. With other students, finding topics in which to engage may have proved problematic. But for a protégé with as much ambition as Bellatrix, subjects were never sparse; they were overabundant. The girl preferred to follow her curiosities and bring them to mentor for exploration. Though from time to time Professor McGonagall would direct them to a topic of her own choosing. Clearly though, new material had caught Bella's brain fancy.

"What think you, regarding the theories of Metamorphic powers among wizarding folk, as they relate to human transfiguration?" Bellatrix queried softly, levitating the open book to reading pedestal.

Over her shoulder, Minerva peered at the tome. To her credit, the professor's face betrayed nothing of her inner disquiet. Inquisitively, Bella's eyes flickered green, silently eager and awaiting knowledge. McGonagall rose to their challenge carefully. Despite Bella's runaround, perhaps they would address the issue of eyes after all.

"Metamorphmagi are born, not made. It is neither a condition that is forced, such as Lycanthropy, nor is it a talent to be learned, such as Animagery. Controlled and mastered, yes. Learned? No."

Among close circles, it was common knowledge that Minerva McGonagall was a renowned Transfiguration Master and a prodigious Animagus. The latter being a subject she and her apprentice had spoken of from time to time. But to the Gryffindor's major annoyance, Bellatrix never seemed to hold interest in pursuing her own form. As it was, it was also common knowledge that Bella abhorred lying for sake of lying. Although if it suited her purpose she was the rare practitioner (a most Slytherin ideal). The teacher assumed Bellatrix thought it beneath her to present, as she saw it, a false form. But now…Minerva's insides pressed thoughts to a head that spoke otherwise. Curious to Bella's response this time, she held back tongue.

"I've _read_ as much, Professor. Please, do you think me research incompetent? All that is easily found in text. I want that which isn't found. I surmise that I'll find it from you."

Professor McGonagall fluctuated among amusement, pride, and the prevailing desire to smack the girl upside the head for her cheek. Perhaps Bella knew this, as devilish smile brimmed her face. Minerva's eyes narrowed but mouth could not help its quirking response.

"Watch your tongue, Bellatrix. Should you speak such to others, detention would be imminent."

Rolled eyes considered this and shifted luxuriously into her name.

"Yes, but you are not others. Nor am I. Besides, Minerva…you _like_ my tongue."

There it was again, the dangerous familiarity brought by names. Though McGonagall's face showed it not, she flushed in places covered by cloak.

_'Are we flirting? Impossible.' _And yet it was. _Possible_, that is.

* * *

><p><em>Truth. Anyone else would have disciplined Bellatrix for running her mouth, as she did on the regular. And others did, frequently. As her mentor, it was a grueling task the professor had; forever sweet-talking colleagues into reducing her protégé's detentions. Otherwise they'd never have time for Bella's mentorship. Minerva had the distinct idea that her student enjoyed making her life difficult in this way. Just today, Minerva had procured a rare bottle of Blishen's 19th century Firewhiskey as bribe for Horace. This in exchange for Bella's freedom from detention this eve. Insolently, the student had haughtily corrected Slughorn's directions for brewing Polyjuice Potion…in front of his class. Minerva's only relief from guilt (at rule bending) was that Bella had indeed been correct: the lacewing flies had to be stewed for 21 days, not 12 as Horace had transposedly misinformed. She was beginning to get the impression that her colleagues were intentionally making mistakes, knowing that Bellatrix would scoff and correct. It was either: <em>

_A) The staff enjoyed making the brazen witch suffer for her snide mouth, despite her studious knowledge._

_Or _

_B) More likely they prompted such occurrence, knowing bribe from Minerva would be offered. She had a fascinating reputation and ability to procure almost anything in existence (within law and reason of course). _

_If Albus knew, which Minerva was sure he did, his only comment was that it would do her well to replenish his stash of Lemon Drops each month. Incredulous, McGonagall had agreed. It was ironic: the long-term arrangement of bribing the Headmaster in exchange for his indifference regarding her bribing of the staff. Exasperated, Minerva wished she could cut the middleman, forgo the bribing, and have the other professors cease their detentions. It certainly would cut down on her lunchtime errands._

* * *

><p>From any other student, Professor McGonagall would take nothing less than utmost respect. And usually after the first month of detention (for failure to adhere to this) her students abided. No one dared to cross Minerva McGonagall with cheek more than once. That is all but Bella. In public Bellatrix had learned quickly: she would not escape similar fate should speech undermine the professor in any academic view. The ascetic Gryffindor had no tolerance for public upheaval or disrespect. Not from her House and certainly not from her apprentice. Minerva was fair to an alarming degree. But to some extent, she relished the girl's fire and her refusal to tame will or words. An unspoken agreement had resulted: Bella would abide by rules in public. But in private she could say as she wished. To say the least, it was most refreshing for the professor. It had become a game for them, this interaction of sorts. The Slytherin would endeavor to rile up roaring anger and Minerva would ignore such attempt. And in rare moments, return the favor sarcastically.<p>

However, lately their bickering had changed. It had begun to include tantalizing wordplay, flirtatious in undertone on Bella's part anyway. What this meant exactly, Minerva could not quite be sure. Therefore in this territory she usually trod with prudent caution. However, recent words persisted in mind and blew on embers. _'You **like** my tongue.' _And this time, mouth supplied words before mind could evaluate their double entendre and curb.

"Only when it does as I _please_!" Minerva spat out, exasperated.

She did appreciate apprentice wit, but sometimes it was too much. But then Bella's stunned countenance penetrated and she realized how her words sounded. Horrified at the innuendo (and perhaps deep down, gleeful), the professor rectified her previous statement. Backtracking at furious paces.

"Only when it does as I please…_and _refrains from vexing me too often."

But the damage had been done. The professor eyed her student, concerned at their state of affairs, but strangely pleased. It wasn't often she managed to stun student into silence. For once Bellatrix had no words to be found in arsenal. She did her best to appear unaffected by the exchange, but gauging by McGonagall's eyebrow she must not have succeeded. Furious at herself for losing the battle, Bellatrix was unable to dispel the vision of writhing hips and tongue on cl—

_'Desist, you foolish child.'_ She tried to direct thoughts away. Away from the image of _three. Blonde wrapped between two and curls feasting between another's legs. Mentee, pleasing Master, tongue swiping across wet—_

Physical distance was in order. Bella backed away and plopped into embrace of the couch near a bookshelf. Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, scratching an ear of failed nonchalance. Desire stampeded through veins and Bellatrix thought her blood would boil out nose and ears. She was glad for the sofa seat. Legs felt numb. The lust did not dissipate, but the student ignored it. It was shoved into backroom with fierce mental door slams. Minerva continued their conversation, only a cough and stutter indicating the uneasiness that lingered.

"Ahem...the p-power is thought to be called at will, as wand direction is not needed. However, there's no wandless incantation either, only an innate ability. But though the power is controlled by will, it is highly affected by emotion; only those truly mastered in their Metamorphmagery can avoid emotional transformation." Warily, Minerva eyed the verdant gaze set in porcelain (as Bella dug handfuls of upholstery in coping mechanism). Saying nothing to the greens, she continued to teach. "Metamorphic powers are coveted by wizardkind, as these individuals can take any form desired. For the fully trained Metamorphmagus, human transfiguration is effortless. Unlike Animagery, Metamorphmagery is innate magic, literally ingrained in these individuals' genetic codes. In contrast, the art of Animagery is an attained ability, one learned and cultivated. Therefore by nature, it is less organic, less…" The professor paused, searching for—

"…intuitive." Bella said softly.

"Quite right, Miss Black. That _would_ be the word: intuitive." She returned to formality for both their sakes.

"You may bow to my genius." Bella's banter crossed legs in amusement.

McGonagall's eye roll and the room shifted back to normal repartee. Ignoring the swot, the professor continued.

"Most practitioners of Animagery can only master one primary form, and this, only after years of diligent study. On a side note, it may interest you to know that some proficient Animagi are accomplished in _several_ forms, as I am. However, such instances are rare due to difficulty and the imperative dedication required to master multiple forms. In addition, Metamorphmagi have no need of Polyjuice Potion; they simply take the form of anyone they've seen before. Swanky as this may sound, the ability of partial transfiguration is truly the most useful aspect. Imagine, if at will you could grow talons to defend yourself. Or cat-like hearing when the situation called for it. And perhaps most captivating, a full Metamorphic transformation is thought to be a reflection of the soul. The general consensus, amongst academics, is that full transformation is a visual enhancement of the individual's normal form. And moreover, this enhancement alters according to situational variables."

Minerva paused, gauging the student's face for understanding. Her face a wall, Bellatrix remained silent and without forthcoming inquiry. Curls merely tilted, waiting for professor to continue. Which she did.

"Metamorphic powers are thought to be hereditary amongst purebloods. However, although rare, throughout history spontaneous manifestations have been recorded amongst those without a family history or "pureblood." Among experts, it is a controversial subbranch of human transfiguration, as the origins of the power are highly debated."

Though lust still lurked in body and blood, it had reduced to a vibrating hum. Inquisitive, Bella's mind dominated as her thirst for knowledge overcame. For the time being they had returned to Master and Apprentice. In groove, Minerva let out ardor for academia, her authority prevalent and her instruction impeccable.

"The power heavily favours women, usually manifesting in the firstborn child of magical folk. Fanatical experts, who adhere to the old faith, claim this is a gift from the witch goddess herself. Even the muggles know something of her. The Greeks called her Artemis. And the Romans, Diana. Homer, known wizard and poet, dubbed her _Artemis Agrotera, Potnia Theron,_ which translates as_ Artemis of the Wildland, Mistress of Animals_. His theory suggests that some female children contain slivers of her magical core, reborn. But instances of male and younger heir Metamorphmagi only prove that this is most likely legend." Minerva paused lecture, as a look she recognized crossed her protégé's face; an intelligent question was on the horizon.

"The Greek mud—_ggles_," Bellatrix started, "…told of a pantheon of gods." Haughty stuck on air.

The professor ignored the slip, frankly surprised the girl had attempted civility in the first place. Bella's distaste and reluctance for muggles was well known. Well indoctrinated. Minerva's lack of response was incredulity: that Bella had managed both the time and stomach to learn of muggle legends. But _apparently_, she had. The student persisted.

"Is it possible that these _entities_ were actually of wizarding blood? Only perceived to be gods due to lack of comprehension?"

Bellatrix stood and the feeling to her legs returned. Arms crossed, she leaned against a clear spot of wall. Still at the pedestal, McGonagall flipped through the resting book, perusing.

"I suppose, Miss Black, that could be a viable theory." Lips pursed, distasteful of such accedence. "The Salem With Trials remain the last widespread muggle recognition of witchcraft. To avoid similar debacles, the International Confederation of Wizards developed the _Code of Secrecy_. Our own Ministry follows this through the _Decree of Non-Disclosure_ law, which prevents magical beings from disclosing magical abilities to muggles. Of course there are some exceptions, but these are closely monitored."

"I assume that _their_ Prime Minister is aware? Parents of students…here?"

Bella's face did not twist as Minerva expected. The professor wondered at things and planted seeds for another day.

"Your assumption is correct. There are other exceptions of course, but those are the bulk of them."

An odd reaction, but the Slytherin took this as permission to kick off her shoes. They clomped at a corner, well aimed. Minerva refrained from annoyance and enjoyment. The girl would have done well, running with the nymph pride in the forest, barefoot and elusive. But as it was the chit wiggled her toes, pressing them married to wooden panels in what the Gryffindor took for impatience. Knowledge never came fast enough for her apprentice. Over the years, Minerva had gathered that Bella's mind was capable of immense holdings, both purchased and stolen.

"As for godhood, all muggle religions are based on the concept of entities with supreme power. Though for wizards and muggles alike, never has the existence of such a being been proven. The muggles also tell of real wizards and witches, such as Merlin, Regina, and Kumbricia. However, this is of course through the guise of fiction and myth. Still, muggle legend and history indicate that their suspicion of witches and wizards is _separate_ from their idea of godhood."

Bellatrix was thoughtful.

"And is not possible, that once upon a time, the _fuse_ of god-wizard and goddess-witch could not have existed? And perhaps, with the dilution of blood, split into two separate categories of power?"

Minerva blinked. She racked her brain, stretching and searching amongst neuronal connections for anything to support or deny Bella's supposition. She found a link…a weak one, but a link nonetheless.

"Well, the original and rumored Amazons believed themselves directly descended from their patron Goddess, Artemis. Lore tells us they communicated with the Goddess through the use of sacred Priestesses. These mortals had the gift of Sight, witch-like powers strong enough to cross the divide from mortal realm to spirit world. And in some legends, high on up to Olympus, home of the Pantheon."

"So if we take lore to be truth, the split had already _happened_ at the time of the Amazons?" Bellatrix's eyes were luminous with discovery of possibility.

"I suppose, yes, one could look at it that way." At Minerva's reluctant agreement, Bellatrix looked furiously enlightened. "But don't take supposition for _fact_, Bellatrix. I've taught you better than to jump to conclusions without empirical evidence. If you're so inclined to defend such thesis, write me an eight-foot parchment. But we've seriously digressed."

The witch pouted. The professor had distinct idea that Bella pushed her theory hard because the idea of direct descent from gods themselves both delighted and reinforced her pureblood ideology (and hubris of ancestry). One that Minerva did not share; it was one of few matters that divided them. Despite hardy attempts to sway protégé mind, Black ideology was far too ingrained. Last year, after one heated discussion (complete with accidental magic), the matter had been dropped; it proved dangerous for them both and put their mentorship atop unstable ground. They chose to no longer debate the merits of blood; or rather Minerva didn't bring it up anymore. Petulance scoffed.

"Fine. Rain on my parade. But tell me this: what say you regarding Metamorphmagi and purebloods, specifically."

The odd moments of before forgotten, Bella moved close to the pedestal once again. Professor McGonagall carefully regarded her protégé before continuing. They were entering precarious woods. She did not wish to fell trees by accident.

"As the power seems to have a certain _proclivity_ amongst purebloods, other experts postulate that this stems from…"

Twiddles of hand and Minerva struggled for language. Bellatrix eyed the bizarre behavior with some amount of confusion, wondering why the woman seemed to tiptoe through forbidden forest. But with her mentor's next words, perplexity gave way to comprehension.

"…too much _inbreeding. _And that the power merely results from gene mutation. Albeit a powerful and _useful _mutation, it is thought to be caused by too much incestual magic combing into a that of a child." All this the professor relayed to Bellatrix, circumspect voice casting wary wavelengths at her student. The Black family tree was…special. Documented in some cases and in others just widely suspected.

Wand spark.

_'Attempting to protect me.' _Bella realized. _'She thinks I don't know my…origins.'_ Not wanting mentor to think her so weak as to need protection from knowledge, Bellatrix killed caution and plowed through her next sentence.

"Yes yes…all this I know. But what say you, if I revealed _myself_ as such?"

The book was forgotten. At this proclamation, Minerva closed her eyes and remembered shining purples. Eyes opened. She took stock of her student's features, uncommonly beautiful features. Liquor eyes were heavily lidded with curls to match name. Elegant cheekbones drew pleasing contours to neck, to collarbones that hid shadows. Length of leg, lissome arms, and stolen pallor from moon. All these, pureblood features for which the Black clan was esteemed. The family resemblance was strong in the Black sisters, oddly strong. But it was never more apparent in any of them, than in Bellatrix. The professor's voice was neutral, trying to assess Bella's state of mind.

"I would say I've had my…suspicions. How long have you known?"

The teenager revisited the parlor window, facing to it. Curls cascaded down back, blending with robes, and greeting Minerva. But words were clear, unmuffled. Blunt.

"That I am a child of _incest_? Or that I possess great power because of such fact?" The witch was candid with flat words; she did not like to dwell on the family implications, but it was pleasing to make others squirm. Schadenfreude was always pleasurable, even with her beloved mentor as prompt.

The flippancy deranged. And Professor McGonagall wasn't quite sure how to respond to such loaded statement. Again, it wasn't unheard of in pureblood families, after all, _all_ the pureblood families were related one way or another. But some unions were…closer than others. And for such a union to produce a child (or a suspected three)? That begat its own set of problems. Voiced aloud, there was no escaping truth. But true to form, Bellatrix answered her own question, playing with ambiguity.

"For certain, since last year. Fourth. Prior, we…I'd just assumed accidental magic. But there were too many incidents…far past puberty."

Minerva could not be sure as to which question Bellatrix referred and answered. She did, however, have onerous feeling it was a foiled equation — distributing to both. She decided to comment on the latter. (The girl responded better to space. Anything but and she was cornered, and reacted accordingly.) She knew Bella's conception was a matter the Slytherin wasn't keen to discuss. Especially as her dam, or at least her legal mother, was a supposed Rosier. It was slim possibility that Bellatrix's powers were a cumulative result (of a millennium's worth of inbreeding). More likely it was a direct source.

"I recall you having a piqued interest in emotional wandlore last year. Specifically, the effect of channeling and clearing emotion, and the resulting increase in spell force." Minerva charily picked words; in her darker moods, Bellatrix responded best to academics. The girl returned oddly.

"Fourth year was filled with stupidity. I find feelings to be rather troublesome, as magic crucifies heart to public wall. So you can understand, Professor, such a thing I couldn't allow. And well…it seemed a reasonable course of action at the time."

_'Fourth year. That was the year when—'_

"I was always a terrible liar. So now I simply choose my truths. I've a _telltale_ you see and tells are dangerous."

The professor approached. Without meaning to, Bellatrix met her halfway at the borderline. Minerva perused eyes, purely for academic reasons, of course.

"Miss Black, you mean to tell me that you deliberately sought my help to learn to dispel of emotion? Simply to…to hide _this_?" Hands gestured to the girl's eyes. McGonagall sorted thoughts aloud, anger vibrating words. "You weren't interested in wielding emotion through wand a'tall, were you? Only the side effects of voiding emotion for elongated periods of time!"

Her student's plan tasted like Gryffindor idiocy, the kind she was accustomed to from her cubs. Moody, McGonagall nearly thought to stoop and tell Bella so, if only to aggravate. Bellatrix had no regret for her actions, only her means; rationalization wore on her well.

"My façade was necessary, Professor, but I _never_ lied to you." She was quite keen on this fact. Moral code and all that. "You never asked me my reasons for interest and I didn't tell. Again, _tells_ are dangerous." Tone appeared remorseful for the omission of truth (but not for deeds). And Bella continued, dropping bomb offhand.

"But, alas, it didn't work…as you must have seen last year."

This last sentence was simple, so casual that Minerva might have missed meaning if not for careful mind. As the words sunk in, the academic horrified at the revelation, more than furious with her student.

"How utterly dangerous and _stupid_, to play at suppressing emotion indefinitely. The side effects are explosive—"

"…and uncontrollable magical outbursts. Yes, I _know_." Bella was flippant and perhaps inappropriately amused. "Regretfully, I was forced to cease after…well, you _must_ have seen the mirror."

The Gryffindor Head seethed. She recalled being woken late in the night by a terrified prefect on patrol (yelling unintelligible utterances that claimed Hogwarts was under attack). It was only after she calmed the poor girl down, long enough for coherence, that Minerva understood that someone had vandalized the Slytherin prefect bathroom. She had seen the damage herself. Repaired it herself. It _had _rather looked like the room had warred itself. And the remnants of emotional storm had lingered. Fury flinging, her tone rose.

"_Regretfully_?! You regret that you had to stop repressing your emotions? Never mind that you misled me. In light of your magical…circumstances, I think some understanding is granted. I'll even forget that you _destroyed_ _s_chool property." Such pardon neared sacrilege for the professor. "But for heaven's sake, Miss Black, _think_ of what you are saying! Emotions are _human_, as are you, Bellatrix."

Wrath raged. Most of which Bella took in stride, save for a well-hidden flinch. The furious anguish must have shown on the professor's face. Because the girl continued heatedly.

"You are wrong, I am Black." As if _this _were the opposite of humanity.

Minerva softened, thinking of a battered girl flinching in much the same way. But even with impassioned speech, the witch began to realize the true extent to which the House of Black imprisoned their children. Voice shook as the implications took hold.

"I beg of you, Bellatrix. Tell me…this past December? Tell me you weren't _punished _for being human_._" Emeralds appeared moistened, but water did not release.

Her student was recalcitrant, though with some measure of apology.

"I won't tell — I already have a tell. I will'na tell and then I cannot lie to you. There is nothing to tell you then."

This did not please the Transfiguration Master, not at all. Though in a roundabout way the sentiment was heart filling; Bella refused to answer because she would not lie to her mentor. However, it seemed that she would deny her the truth.

"While I appreciate your _sentiment_…" (And she did.) Professor McGonagall trailed off. "Someone must be held accountable! Bruises and blood don't spontaneously erupt!" Sarcasm ran for quick moments before entreaty weathered. "For Godric's sake girl, be sane and accept the protection that I would give…that Hogwarts would give!"

Once again, hands found themselves upon her student — from jaw line to clavicle. She shook Bella with gentle urgently, trying to shake sense into brain. But Bella was resolute.

"There is no protection from P— I've told you: I will'na speak of this anymore. Consider the matter _closed_." Bellatrix was haughty in tone; ire bubbled underneath and poked iron-wrought fence through.

Professor McGonagall incensed at her protégé's gall. Even for Bellatrix, this surpassed Minerva's leniency.

"Just who do you think you are, Miss Black?! I am the trained apprentice of Albus Dumbledore himself. The Transfiguration Master of this school, Head of Gryffindor House…and next in line to be Deputy Headmistress. Your Master, your superior. You will do as I command." In that moment, she looked the furious warrior. So much so, that Athena smiled down.

Bella was enthralled, but not enough to silence retort.

"And I am Bellatrix Black! Pureblood daughter and heir to my father's estate, fortune, and legacy. I'm the most powerful student-witch in this school, your _chosen_ apprentice, and I do as **NO ONE** commands. I acquiesce to your requests, if I so choose. But don't think me _controllable_, Minerva. It would be mistake to think my loyalty for blind obedience."

Nose-to-nose, antagonism flared in two sets of eyes. In silence they held that position for red moments. Interpersonal magic crackled and Minerva felt her anger multiple. And from the snarling facial expression upon her protégé, it was mutual. The professor snarked back steam.

"Don't you _ever _take that ton—" Cut short by phenomenon, the professor gasped aloud.

Scene by the window awed and benchmarked (killing old schemas). At first Minerva assumed the light caught Bellatrix oddly. But another moment held and then it was clear. Bella's skin brightened, appearing its own light source. Color shot out from eyes, bathing a wild mane in magic. Curls perfected, lengthened, and flew about her head in supernatural wind. The witch was crepuscular in space, like wagon spokes; robes riled and curls ruling, suspended and eminent. This was nothing less than a full transformation. Violet birthed jewels, amethysts for eyes. Hovered, Bella regarded herself patinaed in purple. She laughed softly as magical breeze ruffled about and promised her a future command (absolute power one day). Even for her, this was novel. And oh how she did like new books. Cissy would be so pissed. (In fact she _was _pissed; Bellatrix lapped at her rage, drinking.) Full transformation had happened now with both Andy and McGonagall, but not the blonde. But it wasn't about trust, it was about control. And Helios reins were never more tight then when regarding her light. She couldn't let chariot run amok just yet; she had to make sure it was fully built. It wouldn't do to ride before then. In the meantime, she let other wheels turn. At the display, Minerva's jaw went slightly slack.

_'Such striking magic. A true Metamorphmagus.'_ Wonder struck the professor and academic mind pressed against glass like wide-eyed child at the reptile house. It was odd, Bellatrix looked the same but _more._ As if her magical core bathed her in its essence, insides turned out. It was a beautiful sight and Bellatrix _was_ beautiful.

And so she was. They were close…closer than they ought have been. An inch and the gap between lips could have disappeared into passion (should that have been the inclination). Bella's anger softened; eyes told that story. With titanic surprise, Professor McGonagall found lust rising within the violet orbs. Involuntarily, she matched it, the emotion finding her body. She leaned in another centimeter only to catch herself and retract a half-foot, feet making legroom into buffer. Oddity-filled, it was another tense moment between the two. Minerva knew these _moments_ were happening more often, too often. Currently, she chalked it up to Bella's magical transformation. It was a well-known and documented trend: emotions ran high for unmastered Metamorphmagi and often manifested in base behavior (anger, fear, and lust). It however did not explain her own actions. But that was remorse and contemplation for another day. For now, her anger tempered with amelioration.

"A full transformation…" More to herself than to Bella, the Master spoke academic marvel.

The Slytherin sank into the magic she expelled, rolling neck in circle, letting it course. Calming breath was taken. Toes touched down, soles meeting ground once again. Uber-Bellatrix had returned to Bella. So engrossed in the magical sight, Minerva missed the beginning of speech.

"…bathroom was the first time in full. Consider _this_ time, your fault. I've found rage to be the best trigger." Bella's tone was sardonically amicable.

"You could have been hurt! And still you kept it from me until _now_?!" This time the admonishment was gentle.

Mutually, their previous exchange was put aside. It always was, as in truth, if it were brought into words the two would be forced to admit a relationship beyond master and apprentice, no matter what the connection may be.

"I couldn't exactly tell you anything. Not when I didn't have confirmation for my…condition. However, the restricted section proved wondrous for my self-educational pursuits." Once again the wand twiddled between fingers.

Minerva rubbed her temples in consternation.

"You _do_ realize that section of library is restricted for good reason?"

Bella shrugged her clear disregard. Not having it, Minerva poked a thrusting finger upon chest. Emphatically driving point home.

"It's to prompt imprudent students, such as yourself, to seek their professors' advice…rather than gallivanting off on their own magical endeavors of stupidity."

Sometimes Professor McGonagall wondered what on this earth possessed her to teach students…_children_. She recalled Albus' first words after her contract had been signed: _"I'm sure, Tabby, you'll find this a most rewarding position: to be able to impart your knowledge and experience to the young."_ Rewarding her feline ass. It was a taxing profession much of the time. Though still, she must admit that the rewards were there, simply just few and far between. Still rubbing temples and curbing the desire to "headdesk," she continued.

"I applaud your use of rhetoric and side-step of blame. How very Slytherin of you. But to neglect from telling me _after_ ya knew? Even for you, Miss Black, that's idiotic rationale. Ya ought try being ashamed of your poor judgment. I rephrase...lack of judgment. I amn't impressed." Accent was strongly present. It tended to lilt more in her sarcastic and disciplinary tirades.

"Truly, Professor, you think I take embodying my house as an insult? _Pssshhh_…you can find better quip than that. Besides, I wanted to sort out a few things before…anyway. I'm telling you now aren't I?"

Words were sardonic, normal for the witch. But there was something else behind them. Minerva looked and found self-doubt and uncertainty.

_'Ah. She thinks— no wonder she…'_

"Your inherited power has nothing to do with your acceleration in the Transfiguration field, Miss Black, if that's what you're on about."

Bellatrix eyed the professor with ersatz confusion, prompting scoff from the Gryffindor.

"You never did understand the value of being humble, in _any_ situation. Your prideful attempts to hide self-doubt, they fail, Miss Black. But don't think for a moment that your talent and progress in the realm of Transfiguration are unfairly accomplished. You have earned that fair and square. It's not a side effect of your Metamorphmagus proclivity."

It unnerved Bellatrix how well McGonagall knew her, despite all efforts to remain distanced.

"I don't _currently_ think such things." Slytherin antics intoned. Ever the semantic witch, it was true. Fear assuaged, Bellatrix thought it no longer. But to _tell_ Minerva she had thought it in the first place? That she couldn't bring herself to do, even if her mentor knew anyway. Chuckles at the proud bairn as Professor McGonagall regarded her student. There was still the unresolved matter.

"And should you ever decide to allow yourself refuge from…_burdens_. Or feel the need to discuss your parentage..." She paused, brain churning troublesome thoughts. Bellatrix wasn't the only Black in Manor Noir. She pondered Andromeda's jaw angle, Cissa's eating habits…and shadows. The well-hidden flinches one might take for adolescent clumsiness. "Your sisters. Are they—" The professor shook head, minding Bella's…anything. But the gist of query came across anyway.

"Blacks. They are Blacks. And well protected." Bellatrix was clipped.

It was a long moment, until…

"Ya speak in semantics too often."

Ribs expanded in relief. They'd have to be more careful. She knew Minerva was too close, too invested. Her mentor suspected something of their secrets. But the soul couldn't delve anymore tonight. And the depths of dysfunctional life would have to stay buried. The witch did the only thing she could and returned to a comfortable level of bickering.

"Are you suggesting that I void all meaning from my speech? Why, I'd end up a Hufflepuff!" Bella's smirk was too fun.

"I'm suggesting that ya might be Gryffindor since you seem rather brave in sass, lassie."

At this sentiment the Slytherin heartily grimaced. But she had to hand it to Minerva who could most definitely hold her own in a battle of wits. Unencumbered, the banter flew.

"Considering you are frequent practitioner, I assumed you liked sass."

"Just for that, deary, we're going to attempt animal Transfiguration."

Arrogantly, Bellatrix smirked at this particular statement, drawing wand.

"And you think this difficult for me, Professor? You must have sleepwalked through the past four years. I'd mastered that by the end of my first." Pride and incredulity flipped wand between fingers, a personal pirate gold.

McGonagall smiled nastily. Abruptly, Bella ceased her wand game. She knew that smile well and nothing pleasant ever came of it. Last time that smile had preceded broomstick antics. She still had a stubborn scar on her shin — mid-air transfiguration was nasty business.

"Foolish lass," Minerva quipped. "This is no parlor _Fera Verto_ trick. Oh no. _You're_ the one going to be transfigured. From your display today I think you've more than enough control to practice with intention. It's high time you began to hone your Metamorphmagus abilities."

Merry to a mildly sadistic degree, the professor smiled her intent. Served the brat right. Fondly, she chuckled aloud at Bella's wary face. The Slytherin attempted at recourse.

"And here I thought you didn't like such experimentation..."

_"Without ample supervision_, is the phrase you're looking for. Now stop stalling. Wand away, dear, we've still an hour left."

Bellatrix reluctantly sheathed, circumspect as Minerva rubbed her hands together in prep.

"Lets aim for pig. It would serve you right, for all your hot air and snorting lip." McGonagall was all but gleeful.

Bella for her part looked mortified. Pigs. She hated pigs.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note II:<strong> R & R. There's one more short chapter and then the real mind-fuck begins. And yes, _imperfectionisunderrated_, that means smuttier things are on the horizon.

**Translation:  
><strong>- _Màthair _(Gaelic) - Mother.  
>- <em>Mo Rún<em> (Gaelic) - My dear.  
>- <em>Retinae<em> (Latin) - Plural form of retina.

(Credits: _The Black Eyed Peas_ – Meet Me Halfway, _Homer_ – The Illiad, _Gregory Maguire_ – Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West, _Once Upon a Time_, _Tonic_ – If You Could Only See, _William Shakespeare_ – Hamlet)


	11. Nov 5, 1966: Obsidian Interlude

**Author's Note I:** This interlude chapter is an anachronistic addition to our timeline. It takes place after Cissa's Sorting (September 1965), but before the Andrometrix scene in the prefect's bathroom (February 1967). Cissa has not yet bloomed in her bloodrite.

* * *

><p><em>Hogsmeade Weekend: November 5, 1966. <em>

Her stone perch was wretched. In the courtyard cold, the day was wretched. From the archway niche, the above clouds smudged and congregated. They seemed to conduct grey misery, but perhaps that was for Cissa alone. Under the highland sky the others shrieked glee; gallivanting games were the moment's currency. (Laughter echoed pristine as the snowfall.) Cheery first- and second-years pummeled snowballs, highlighting her contrariness. Away from the merry fray she was the purposeful outlier. She did not mingle amongst her peers. Frivolity did not suit her, did not dress her. Not without Be—

Narcissa was cold. So to insides she bundled herself, nestling closer to sage scarf. The knit texture was good touch, an elven-creature comfort. It however was not myrrh for anger, nor was it actual comfort. A boot scuffed at snowdrift, its dragon scales glinting destruction amongst crystals. Blacks did not indulge in self-pity, but her musings were unintentional. And though Cissa hated her lack of control in such matters, such thoughts never registered upon her face. She had had ample practice at such incongruities. Ample and awful practice. _They can't hurt you, unless you let them. _But she hurt. It was Andromeda's birthday. And by virtue of her second-year status (despite her age) Narcissa was relegated to castle; barred from Hogsmeade grounds and excluded from celebration. Andy had been insensitive, had overlooked. Cissa doubted that Meda realized what this last-minute whimsy restricted. The blonde had rather hoped her middle would have compensated somehow. Meda hadn't. And she'd rather hoped Bellatrix would have curtailed such nonsense. Or at least…

"Miss Black?"

Lovely. Meddling-McGonagall was afoot. Cissy retained her silence. Her face. Quiet fell between them serving to push mirthful sounds to the foreground of ears. Avoiding eye contact, Narcissa watched her peers. Their forts. Their snow cannons. Shadow fell over her. And standing by her side, professor robes brushed student knee. Nuance coated her body.

"And here I'd rather thought you a fan of winter games."

Minerva's words were deliberate, pointing out topical and picking at subsurface. It was no secret the youngest Black flourished best in the winter months. _Best_ perhaps, was not the accurate word. _Congruent_ was closer. It was more so a sense of congruity between Cissy and the season. The professor regarded the child, silent on stone bench. But the youngest Black offered no words; she rarely did. Despite an odd acceptance of McGonagall in Bella's world (her own even), the little witch would not voice it. Come to think of it, the child had never spoken to her directly, not outside of classroom academia. And certainly never alone. As to the prompting motivation, Minerva had her unfounded suspicions. The professor (well aware that a Black sibling-spat brewed in cauldron) decided today of all days wasn't meant to further that particular battle. Internally, the professor annoyed at Andromeda's lack of prescience and took other approach. She quite thought Bellatrix would have approved of her method.

"I'd like to remind you, Miss Black, that my function at this school rates above owl service." Minerva held back smile, as too casually Narcissa shifted; her attention caught. "It would behoove you to remind your eldest Miss Black of much the same." Professorial truth unrolled from droll carpet, leaving behind a brown paper parcel.

McGonagall placed the small bundle on stone. Icy eyes were unreadable, but the girl reached for the awkwardly wrapped thing. (It was clear that Bella's forte did not lie in something so domestic.) The Gryffindor, quite satisfied, twitched mental whiskers at a canary well caught. Or snake, rather. _This_ serpent required a stranger hand than most. Minerva opted for a lax camaraderie, more familiar than her usual. (Bellatrix, of course, was the exception to rule. And apparently such exemption now spread to include Narcissa to some degree.) The professor let wit whip.

"Abysmal at wrapping isn't she? It's absurdly lucky your sister's meant for more than housewifery."

McGonagall thought soft chuckles were blonde steam on the air. The Gryffindor could have left; it was Saturday and not her yard-watch. But she didn't. The Slytherin could have inclined her head and taken secrets back to the warmth of castle. But she didn't. Minerva was brave enough to dub this as progress. (Apparently, Narcissa was comfortable enough with their current uncomfortabilities.) She watched. Nimble hands pulled at twine and paper and then pried open the hinged box. The professor surprised at her own recognition, glinting like the object nestled within. But it was far more curious, the expression which accosted the child's face, falling somewhere among disbelief, vexation, and honor. Carefully, Cissa pulled out the necklace; silver and obsidian marked it Black and bound. The blonde turned incredulity over in her hands. The necklace itself was stunning. An intricate chain gave way to collarbone filigree: fine silver wrought into fluxional twirls. Gothic and simple. But it was the bezel that caught breath: an oval stone laden with black shine and history. Cissa stroked it reverently, the pad of her thumb imprinting and finding tangible comfort. Recognizing kin, the stone heated in her hand, crimson with glow. (Blood wards incorporated the girl into its magic.)

"Ah. I see Miss Black saw fit to lend you her ever companion."

T'was true. Since taking ownership, her apprentice _never_ took the heirloom from its hallowed home: the hollow of her neck. Amongst the populace, the stone was the subject of wizarding lore and fanciful myth. It was said to symbolize great power and was meant to be protected from outsiders…guarded to the last breath of life. In generalities, Minerva was well aware the stone had always passed between the strongest Blacks heirs of each age. _Strongest_, of course, usually synonymous with _eldest male_. In practicality and flaunting of her gender, Bellatrix had fashioned the stone into a necklace.

* * *

><p><em>Possession of the stone indicated one was, or was to be, regarded as Patriarch Noir. It was a magically binding contract, unbreakable…except by choice of the recipient.<em> _The stone had belonged to Bella's great-great-grand-father, Phineas Nigellus Black. (Passed down to him, of course. His elder brother Sirius had been absolved of its duty, having died in childhood long before coming of age.) On his deathbed, Phineas had passed it on to his eldest grandchild, Arcturus II, at the responsible age of twenty-four. It was tradition (though not rule) to skip one generation, so as to leave the patriarchy in the hands of the most able-bodied man. Now, though far from old at sixty-five, Arcturus had felt his reign time had spun and gone (He, of course, would always remain powerful in their hierarchy.) The wizard had considered his options. All his options. _

_He'd begun with the traditional route. But his grandsons, Sirius and Regulus, were too young and unformed to be considered. And their cousins... (He paused on the idea, marking that an interesting door indeed. But he considered other options first.) Arcturus' eldest child, Lucretia, had not been a viable option — neither in terms of magical prowess, nor power of personality (nor optimum of gender or family of marriage). This prompted Orion and Cygnus to vie for guardianship. Respectively, these being Arcturus' son and Arcturus' first cousin once removed. (The latter, also being Bella's father.) The stone-holder wasn't keen on either of them for this role. His son lacked the political mind. And Cygnus was a beast of different kind. Thoughts then, had settled on his grandsons' generation (The Starlets, as he thought of them). Bellatrix in particular. Arcturus had chuckled, the sounds of a man stirring the pot if only to see it spin._

_Though female, Bellatrix had several advantages:_  
><em>1) She was the eldest of her familial generation.<em>  
><em>2) Neither of her male cousins was age appropriate.<em>  
><em>3) Amongst her generation she was the most powerful without question. (Though, he did reckon that little Narcissa would grow into a different sort of power.)<em>  
><em>4) She was an official débutante. Legal in the eyes of Black, legal in the eyes of the Ministry.<em>

_At seventeen, Ministry law had considered her of age. At sixteen, Black law had already counted her amongst the adult members of their House, bestowing her with all rights and privileges not age-restricted by outside law. Arcturus had waited but one day after her debut, before meeting privately with the girl. (The abundant family carousing in Manor Noir had made such task all too easy.) In a forgotten study, on the seventh floor, he'd proclaimed Bellatrix to be the future Matriarch Noir. Before remonstration was possible, the blood ritual had completed. Arcturus was clever; he knew what he denied Cygnus. And he knew to what he'd saddled Bellatrix. (_Legally and despite his wishes, Arcturus was unable to remain as Regent._ At the time, Bella had been underage; therefore she remained the property of her father.) But he also knew her strength would prevail. Bellatrix was the warrior starlet…with good reason._

_Orion had sulked in silence. But Cygnus had raged none too gently in protest. However, much to his glee, during this interregnum blood magic automatically named him Lord Regent, Black Protector of the Matriarch Noir. And so, despite age-old misogyny, these developments secured Bella's position of power, both in her family and pureblood circles (the Blacks were as royalty). Once all age restrictions were obsolete (in Bella's 22nd year, when her full inheritance came due) even the most crotchety and opposed patriarchs would have no ground to deny her position. However, gender was a tricky thing to negotiate in all this. As long as Bellatrix remained unmarried, she belonged to her father. So in the short term she was no better off regarding personal matters. Therefore in the meantime, short of death, there wasn't much protection to be found. Certainly, not from Cygnus._

_Knowing her marriage was imminent, Arcturus' plan hinged on Bella's match; he prayed the stars would align. Cygnus wasn't above wedding her to a malleable slug, to gain control through Bella's intended. And Arcturus was rather disinclined for his master plan to be thwarted by puppetry. But Arcturus rather thought he'd evened the scales a bit, by giving the girl ample planning time to work out the kinks. He well knew the witch was formidable in mind. And at the very least, this secured ever-lasting entertainment for his retirement. Satiated, he anticipated the show. _

* * *

><p>In the winter wind, Narcissa hugged the stone to her breast, letting its sentience and her heart thump together.<p>

_(And in a bawdy pub amongst her idiot sister's entourage, Bellatrix sipped Butterbeer and burnt her tongue on the intimate feeling. Eyes flickered, having nothing to do with the silent marshmallow-hex she cast at the bimbo next to her.) _

Snow fell. And Minerva was thankful for the flakes that filled the silence. The professor had her political notions as to what brought heirloom to Bella's keep. But McGonagall was left unaware of details, as well an outsider ought be. As such, she had no inkling as to the significance of Bella's gesture. No. Minerva only knew it prompted emotion from Narcissa. And that was significance enough. Briefly she pondered why Bellatrix had left the package in her care in the first place (as opposed to actual owl). It wasn't the most secure system (either, actually); such a precarious delivery relied entirely on the virtue of its carrier. For a moment McGonagall thought to be flattered at such trust. However, then smirk crossed her face, both vexed and proud. Knowing Bellatrix, her pupil had likely warded the box (nastily) against unauthorized intruders. Internal chuckles, as she recalled Bella's interest last week: imbruing objects with "hex alarms." As such, it occurred to Minerva that she perhaps had been sent less as messenger, and more so as envoy to assuage her protégé's sister.

The skies were still wretched. The clouds still occluded. But Cissa thought the day now seemed a better grey. If she had been wordless before, the blonde was now utterly without a language. The stone wasn't hers to keep, she knew. This was a loan, but a poignant one at that. Her mind spasmed disbelief and a thousand questions hurled undone. _Why_, being the prominent projectile. Huddled in hands and tight to her chest, the stone pulsed and answered as Bellatrix in her veins.

_"Even if you were the chafing rope on my gallows, I'd still trust you with my life, little one. And for Salazar's sake, Cissa-dear, throw Minnie a damn bone. I merely thought you could use some one-sided conversation. Now if you'll excuse me, I have mayhem to impart…" _

It wasn't often that bloodrite came through as discernable language. Cissa hadn't yet _bloomed_ and was far too new in her own practice of such things. This meant it was entirely up to Bella to wield the bond between them so expertly. And she could, just not often and only for short spurts. Dainty fingers trembled with the clasp in the cold, with emotion Cissa wouldn't admit. In the frigidity, the task was arduous to begin with. But the girl wouldn't separate the stone from her heart; she kept a guardian hand pressed fiercely, ensuring its hallowed home. Impossibility had a fun dance then, with a single-hand attempt at fastening. It wasn't pity, but Minerva knew compassion for the trembling girl; steady hands took over, hooking silver amongst wisps of gold. The blonde shook under such care. But she let the course run. Clasp clicked into place. And as the professor maneuvered yellow plait back into place, Narcissa knew resignation and reluctant fondness. The child sighed, half-amused, and gifting speech.

"She's well aware you're no owl service, Professor. But then again my sister can be a _fowl_ sort at times and a daft bimbo at others." The dry commentary sported.

_(Bellatrix choked midway through a bite of tart at the bar. Half-amused, half-incensed.)_

Well. Professor McGonagall coughed on the unexpected air. She managed the only reply that could be merited. (Bellatrix would be petulant, but in the end would capitulate and sacrifice pride for her sister's spirit.)

"It's been far too long, dear, since anyone dared such fun at your sister." Her smile was laughter, kind with twinkles of mischief. "10 points to Slytherin, Miss Black. Yes, I think that ought to do it."

A hand lingered on the girl's shoulder. Minerva's subtle reminder: her office door was always open…and help would always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask. With that, the professor left the girl to silence once again and trudged back to the castle. But before sliding out of view, she chanced a plotting smirk back at the girl. Wand flicked charm. And a single snowball lobbed toward the pack of underclassman that seemed to have called truce (and were now making snow angels). A faint _"HEY, who threw that?!"_ could be heard. As could the discombobulated battle that resulted. Bemused, Narcissa had trouble believing the entire exchange wasn't a drugged figment of her imagination. No more words, but Bella sent pulse. It nuzzled behind her, wrapping safety. Cissa wasn't alone. The stone bled magic over winter robes, painting red drips onto snow and yellow hair. She wore Bella's promise close to heart. It cut through the layers and pressed naked against her.

It marked Narcissa, titled her as Hand of the Matriarch; Bella's one-day second in command, ranked above all their cousins. Above all those in the hierarchy.

Above Andromeda.

It didn't change the sting. But it _certainly _put Meda's idiocy into perspective.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note II:<strong> R & R, my lovelies. Google search for "Onyx Necklace by raulsouza on deviantART" and follow the link to see my headcannon for the necklace. The next chapter begins the meat of our story. Stay tuned!

(Credit: _Everclear_ – One Hit Wonder)


	12. Dec 18, 1968: Dysfunctional December

And once again, the scene changed.

_[Minerva mentally plopped into the airspace by Bellatrix, no longer the actress and once again the viewer. Her head boggled as she attempted to reorient in time. Cheekbones were her gauge; the girl was nearing twenty.] _

A spread fit for an epicure covered the elaborate table; it looked to be a grand family affair (despite the absence of Arcturus and several others). And at the head of the table sat Cygnus Black III.

_[He'd aged well, Minerva realized, since Bella's last memory of him. But time had only hardened his eyes and heart. She wanted to splint Bella's soul. House decorations indicated it was December, sometime during the month-long holiday from Hogwarts (reluctant or not, on the Black daughters' part). Her intangible eyes moved about clockwise, clocking the attendees.]_

To his direct right sat Cygnus' wife, Druella Black née Rosier. She was a sophisticated (if rather dull) woman of fine taste with an affinity for jewels. This was aptly illustrated by the array of gemstones thrust upon hands and neck, and coiled in her sweeping updo. Heavily lidded eyes resembled those of her two eldest offspring, though her fair coloring resembled Narcissa's. To Druella's right sat her brother, Evan Rosier. Though he resembled his sister's fair looks, he had been gifted with a far greater intelligence. Bella thought her uncle a calculating man. As children, he had been ever present with a candied bribe, so long as she and her sisters did his bidding; children made good spies with their small stature and underestimated minds. Of his nieces he was most partial to Bellatrix, who shared many of his own intellectual traits…and dark affinities. A pleasure then, that Bella sat next to her favorite uncle. But it was less one with Andromeda to her right, separating her from Narcissa. And it was a precarious seating arrangement that Bellatrix abhorred yet knew was best. She was off-kilter tonight. Better her hands were far from Cissa's knees.

_[Unlike the other memories, Minerva couldn't discern herself. She tried to locate lungs, her legs, anything…but to no avail. She simply floated in the scene, a disembodied mind hovering in some nondescript place above Bellatrix and Rosier.]_

Across from Cygnus (at the other end of the table — the place of honor) sat his father Pollux Black (Eldest progeny of the late Cygnus Black II). To Pollux's right sat his wife, Irma Black née Crabbe. And to Irma's right sat their youngest grandchildren, Sirius and Regulus Black. The brothers sat directly across from Bellatrix and Andromeda respectively. To Sirius's right sat second cousins (and spouses) Walburga and Orion Black, his parents. What should have been a merry family supper filled with cheer and conversation, was instead a rather dampened affair. Cygnus and Orion heatedly debated some esoteric topic that no one else cared about. Rosier offered up thoughts now and then in his careful manner, however, did not indulge in the shouting match. Druella and Walburga attempted a more refined conversation about the latest dress fashions from France. But this proved difficult due to the seating arrangements; Cygnus had to speak loudly over the pair to reach the ears of his brothers-in-law (though Rosier didn't give a rat's ass). Pollux and Irma seemed to enjoy engaging in, what they _considered_, conversation with two of their younger grandchildren. In reality, the interaction consisted of Irma bemoaning Narcissa's "Whore-ish demeanor" (she had put on blush for the occasion) and Pollux telling the boy to sit up straight and drop his "Sissy-girl attitude" (Sirius wasn't sure quite what prompted this).

_[The professor looked about in analysis. The rampant dysfunction made her family's shortcomings appear saintly.]_

The third generation fared no better than their elders. 13-year-old Sirius scowled at his plate and proceeded to organize a complex Quidditch play with his potato fingerlings. In attempt to ignore their grandfather, his younger brother Regulus seemed in another world, one based solely upon the bosom of his cousin Andromeda. Narcissa's face remained impassively cold; she uttered nothing in response to Grand-mère's goading. But her hand trembled in Meda's under the table. Andromeda tried not to fidget. It was less the prepubescent leering or Cissa's distress, and more so her eldest sister…whose hand caressed her dress-clad thigh in lazy figure eights. Familial. Challenging. Reminding. Hating.

_[Had it not been a legitimate memory of her protégé, Minerva might have taken the scene for that of a dark comedy. One of hyperbolic debauchery. She pursed her lips at that obscene hand, but Bella's thoughts spoke loudly. It disheartened the Gryffindor that the girl knew this as normalcy. Professor McGonagall felt Bellatrix's disgust and amusement at the scene in which genes forced her to take part. Uncomfortably, the professor felt the simmering bloodlust of her student. She had to admit, it was impossible to ignore. Minerva did not blame Bella for her tempered attempts to quench it. Abhorred that it existed in the first place, yes. But begrudge the girl some refuge from her constant state of boiling? No. And despite all morality, the professor found she angered at her protégé for dallying, and not with Narcissa. She tried not to understand the Slytherin's motivations, but did.]_

Bellatrix ignored the large piece of brain that wanted to bloody her throat hoarse from the abhorrence. She hated this limp-puppet routine she played; she wanted control. Thoughts trailed toward her cousin Arcturus and the smooth stone nestled on Cissa's neck. Disillusioned by charm, of course. Liking where her power lay, she'd never found cause to take it back. Idiots the lot of them, but none suspected Cissy was her source. Figuratively and now literally. But the clamor of the room lent poorly to such brainwave. Instead, mind focused on the shallower parts of herself. And that part of Bellatrix was bored. Family dinners were never her forte; she barely curbed her sarcastic nature around those she liked, let alone those she despised_. _But dysfunction or not, they were her family. Mostly she spent time making obscene gestures at Sirius, hoping to prompt a reaction. And disquieting Andromeda. Testing Cissa.

Bella enjoyed Andy's jumps underneath her roaming hand. Served the brat right. Her blood popped fury, crackling snips. In some queer and unfounded attempt at martyrdom, Andy had unceremoniously plopped herself between her sisters — she had actually hip-checked Cissy out of chair. With dinner torture less than halfway through, Bellatrix now fumed, peeved Andromeda had relegated her to a lack of conversation (they weren't speaking, not for months now). Nails dug into leg and Bella relished the animosity toward her former lover. Andy coughed in cover of squeak and leaned in for her water glass. As honey curls moved, Cissa found Bella's gaze and disapproved of many things, understanding only half.

Those blue eyes prodded and Bella's hand became salacious on surrogate thigh. Affronted, Andy glowered something awful…horrified that Bella chanced such risk in public. (Chanced it at all actually, after their clear-cut estrangement last year.) But Bellatrix knew the blonde's line of sight hid the antics. Her heart missed Andy, but not this Andy. (And more than the lover, she missed her sister.) It was an echoed longing and Bella wasn't one to dwell in past. She missed Meda, but Cissa she craved. With some amount of surrealism, the eldest sister amused, recognizing the slippery slope she tempted. Bellatrix knew the eventualities. But somehow the morality (or lack of) seemed more palatable if she at least attempted at protest. It was protection for Cissy and for now that overrode Bella's soul. So Andy it was. Even in their estrangement it was understood: they were to spare their youngest sister from world. From themselves.

But Bella grew weary of the stand-in. Those nails dug much too hard, prompting a squawk from Andy…and gaining Cissa's attention. Lidded eyes cased the table and satisfied at the drunkenness. Such lack of vigilance and Bellatrix took the moment for theirs, knowing no one would hear them above their buzz. Vino had loosened Bella's sensibilities. She husked softly, too curious as to Cissa's nuanced understanding. Perhaps wanting confrontation.

"Hush Meda, you insult Cissy's intelligence with that glare. And since when has _handsies_ made you fickle?" Bella so did enjoy layered conversation. And mockery. "Your _prude_ is showing," Bellatrix drawled ironically.

(_In more innocent years, dinner parties had resulted in childhood antics. Born of boredom and complacency, juvenile pinches and tickles erupted under the cover of table...trying to make one another shriek and call uncle. Slytherin faces when the adults would scold. And then belated nighttime retribution; Papa's hexes in punishment. (Bella always "lost" for this reason). Funny, how naïve childhood reflected poorly now. Or expertly._) Buying stock in her sisters' strange game, the blonde raised an eyebrow at Bella's words, letting index finger trail the rim of wineglass. Cissa sensed a missed nuance, but let it go for now. Mostly. She exasperated at this recent trend of Bella's…talking overhead and daring her to understand. Slightly annoyed at those twinkling eyes, Narcissa molded amusement of her own. Distastefully, the teenager flicked her smudged glass with a decided ring. Mildly, she flagged down a servant and requested a new vessel. She tipped the fresh glass toward the resulting pitcher, ample wine red and sanguine.

"Thank you, Emmalda." Cissa dismissed the serving girl.

Andy's gaze questioned and Bella raised eyebrow. Elegant fingers drummed the table and blonde tone to sisters was lazy, regarding the grubby glass and entendre. Sardonicism poke bawdily, adding to what Cissa _thought _was their childhood game revisited, now morphed into early adulthood punage.

"Too many hands had dirtied it. _Handsies_ indeed. And if purity is virtue, then I dare say the naughty thing had _none_." Cissa tipped glass and a quiet singsong at Andy, finding prime opportunity to excel in the role of baby sister and rib her siblings.

Amused at the unintentionally, Bellatrix nearly choked on irony and drank her disconcertion, believing Cissa to be blissfully unaware of her proximity to incestuous truth. (The blonde, however, wasn't nearly as naïve as they thought.) While Bella found humor, Andy blanched, rightfully unsure who knew what. Sex in general and the finer details escaped Narcissa (truly pure, the mechanics of sexuality weren't fully formed in her head). Rudimentarily, of course, she understood the theoretical act of intercourse and its entailings. Early on, Bella ingrained in them that the best protection from Papa was virginity. (In this, she executed the best education, refusing to let Hell share its evils with her sisters.) Narcissa knew Andy did…things, but not _that_. (It's fair to mention that Meda was the average curious teen, but well aware her escape by marriage would require purity. Or at least the physical pretense of such. Bellatrix had…ensured this. Hands and tongues were good for other things, such as avoiding penetration.) Cissa knew that circumstances beyond their control had taken Bella's innocence. They didn't speak as to _why_ Bellatrix was free to roam in sexual exploit. It was enough that Papa raped her on the semi-regular; they sought not to remind her of it. And let her cope as she did.

One must keep in mind that it was the late 1960s. And while the muggle world might have embraced free love, for all intents and purposes the wizarding world still socially functioned as if it were the turn of the century. And if good girls of good pedigree experimented, well then…society just borrowed from the Victorian age and buried heads in the sand. It was fondly hypocritical of the elder Black sisters: though Cissa neared the age of sixteen, they were determined to keep her innocent. Andy colored at Cissy's lark, whereas Bellatrix chuckled, pleased. The blonde poked fun and spoke to their dating forays at Hogwarts. Well Andy's anyway; this past year she'd discovered a weakness for Quidditch players and handjobs. (Both of these were much to Bella's affront and the Franz Ferdinand for their rift.) And what Bellatrix did to the school's populace could hardly be construed as dating. Mauling might be more appropriate.

"She's onto us, Andy-dear." Bella purred, enjoying the spare seconds when Andromeda panicked, thinking Bellatrix meant their own odd…relationship (though now stagnated). Her fun had, Bella rectified before Meda could blurt out the irreversible. "I do think Cissy disapproves of your inability to _close_ your legs, and of mine to keep others shut. But Meda, you have yet to regale us with tales of your latest: the middle Selwyn boy was it not? A little biddy told me you've been wielding his _wand_ in the _Come and Having a Go_ room." Bella imparted this with a lazy hand to Meda's waist, danger and assurance in one fell swoop.

"I hate both of you." An oddness punctuated Meda's tone; the fondness of sisterhood, even amongst the twisted underpinnings of estrangement and sheltering Cissy.

Narcissa snorted into her wine and Bellatrix laughed heartily at the girl talk, feeling nearly normal for once. Just sisters joshing around. Almost. You know…had they not a strange and uninformed love triangle between them. Deprecation and Bellatrix took it out on that thigh…punishing Andy for the things she couldn't oust. And couldn't have.

"Enjoying yourself are we, niece?" Rosier's voice sounded low in her ear. Clearly, he had escaped Cygnus' irrational monopoly. And clearly, Bella had underestimated his level of sobriety.

Bellatrix followed his eyeline to her hand dance on Andy's hip. She met his piercing greys and did not blush when Andromeda let out a strangled gasp, heard only by Bella and Rosier. (Cissa seemed once again distracted by Irma's heavily accented vitriol). The sound pleased Bellatrix. Their once candor had fallen apart like soaked paper. But it was great satisfaction that despite rupture she could still elicit such vulnerability from her sister. Cissa was oblivious (as Bella preferred it for now). But it oddly gratified that another was witness. It was control. Despite her uncle's discovery (to Bella's skewed credit), the lazing hand upon Andy never faltered. Instead, her mouth quirked upward. Granted, this particular secret was not public amongst the relatives at the table. But after all, weren't family secrets _exactly_ that? And Evan Rosier _was_ family, even if he wasn't a Black. His sister Druella had married one and that was close enough. Rosier's relationship with his eldest niece was the nearest thing to normalcy in Bella's family life. Still eyeing her hand, he raised an eyebrow, pulling for extrapolation. Intrigued at her sudden confidant, she replied.

"_Hardly_, Uncle. I'm keeping myself occupied, as the conversation is severely lacking." Her words sambaed around the subject, much as her hands.

Evan chuckled darkly under breath.

"A child after my own heart, I see…content to create when the situation is lacking."

Bellatrix's eyes twinkled with mirth and delight at their verbal sparring.

"This is no creation, simply a Blacker reality. Though I must admit…" Her voice rolled sarcasm, "…the ever engaging tones of Uncle Orion and Papa are enthralling. However, I must keep myself _entertained_. Wouldn't you agree?"

A devilish smirk graced full lips. Her words whispered rhetoric and Rosier regarded his niece with science in mind.

"Your so-called reality is exceptionally dangerous." It wasn't a judging statement, nor did it coat with disdain. Instead it held a mildly questioning tone and perhaps acceptance of fact. Merely, he was curious for her retort.

"And your reality isn't? I know who you serve."

Bellatrix hadn't disappointed. Though, he was rather glad his Master wasn't there to hear it. How _had_ she found him out? It mattered not. But loyalty to his Master discovered by a schoolgirl? No, that wouldn't bode well for his standing. Still…he had his plans.

"As if _you_ don't serve a Master?" Rosier referred to her blood.

"I do. My apprenticeship is unrivaled in this decade." And Bella played at semantics.

"Perhaps one day, another Master you'll have." So he went with entendre.

She cocked an eyebrow, mind reeling at implied invitation. Bella's plate was heaping: bloodrite struggles, sisters, Minerva, Papa's _attentions_, juggling schoolwork with apprenticeship and prefect duties, surviving until her title was more than promise…and Cissa. Cissa in her heartbeat. But Bellatrix was not ignorant of the outside world, far from it. In the shadows of dark corners she heard whispers. A new political power was rising and gathering followers to further the pureblood agenda: The Dark Lord, they called him. And Black gravitated toward the dark.

"Perhaps I shall."

Rosier nodded and sipped his wine, affording her space for thought.

She had answered, as she knew he expected. It seemed her uncle was interested in recruiting her. And Bella was interested. The Dark Lord was said to have magical powers beyond comprehension. Her conscience supplied flashes of emeralds and guilt. But Bellatrix consoled herself; The Dark Lord interested her, but not for the obvious reasons. No, he represented what she couldn't have: unrestrained freedom. Bella's life revolved around control. Controlled knowledge; such was the price of loyalty to Minerva. Controlled submission to her father. Control of desire. Control of her sisters, control of her magic, control of her darks…so on and on it went. She knew it was imperative to remain in control, lest she release her fury upon an innocent or a sister. But still. The idea of living without restraint…it tempted. She and Cissa could… Absorbed in thought, Bella's hand traded laziness for idolatry; absentmindedly it crept up Andy's thigh, dangerously high.

"Bella." whispered breathily, around Meda's trembling forkful. Honey eyes darted about, making sure no one had noticed their precarious condition.

The name pulled the witch back to the world. The dinner still continued, dysfunctionally so. Cataloging the ridiculum about them, Bella locked with Andy's gaze briefly. Pleading honey disconcerted her.

_'__That ship has sunk.'_ Bellatrix pulled away.

She winced, feeling Cissa's teeth grind in their veins, concerned at the foreign emotion from Bella. She had been hermetically careful, knowing Cissy's bloodrite grew stronger every day (as did their connection). But sometimes Bella wondered if the girl suspected. And more so, _what_ the girl suspected. Either way…damage control; she pushed general apology into napkin folds. Into the girl's mind. But Narcissa was…closed. Interesting. That had never happened before. Not magically at least. Bella was already plotting midnight reconciliations, but had little time to ponder as she ran into the regard of Rosier's face.

"And in public, Bellatrix? Your exhibitionist is showing, dear." Rosier quipped, mien impartial at the exchange (and ignorant to half of it).

"Would you expect any _less_ from a Black? Besides, it has been done before." Her tone accused. "In _this_ family eve—"

"SEE REASON, 'RION, THEY'RE SUCKING US DRY."

Sudden volume and they both jerked in their respective chairs. This particularly enthusiastic shout had sounded from Cygnus, rattling his closest neighbors. Something to do with the incompetent liberality of the Ministry of Magic, and its ill-directed efforts in granting extra tax cuts to the poor. Reminded of the obscene locals, Rosier took to prudence before conversation could progress further.

"_Muffliato_."

Effectively, this constructed a private magical box for two. (The catastrophe called dinner continued about them.)

"The Blacks are a rare breed of danger-seekers…in _many _realms." Rosier was conservative and mildly sipped his vintage.

The subject of the Dark Lord had closed. And while Bellatrix could not be positive, she thought her Uncle tested others waters, trying to ascertain how much family lore Bella knew. Again, she did not disappoint.

"Why it appears they even _breed_ discontent in the realm of their _own_ danger…doesn't it, dear Uncle?"

He blinked at her icy and resentful tone. She _knew_.

"Sorry to thwart your ambush, but I already know my origin's sin…shared by my sisters I think. One of them at least." Her tone was flat. Numb.

She stared across the table, past Sirius and into wall. It offered profile view. Rosier regarded his niece's sculpted beauty much as one might regard a prized mare. What he found pleased him; it seemed his sister produced fine stock. Stock, in which a vested party held interest beyond the aesthetics. She was of age. And the time was almost ripe for his Master, for the taking.

"My sisters, however, don't suspect. I highly _advise_ you to keep it that way, Uncle."

It was no idle threat. Rosier knew the beauty of her brain and thought its siren-case to be fitting. The future Matriarch would protect her sisters with every ounce she owned. Her loyalty was a steady thing indeed. He noted this trait. Evan remembered the child he once bounced upon a knee. How her gaiety had rung out in laughter. These times he kept tucked away, cherished. Over the years, the gaiety had turned into an unnerving thoughtfulness. A crueler laugh, as time after time the child endured monstrosity within her household. She never _told_ him of Cygnus's attentions, but he suspected all the same. Bella's bruises told story for her. He had no custody claim over the girl, as he was only kin through his sister's marriage. But over a lifetime he fervently had beseeched Druella to see truth. She had not, refusing to believe her husband enjoyed the raping of his own kin. Instead, her mothering attentions became cruel disregard. And Bellatrix found that although her mother still lived, she had lost her.

It was to Rosier's relief when Bellatrix began her time at Hogwarts; it had brought some amount of joy to the girl. But the systematic oppression still reigned. With every holiday spent at home, secrets killed the carefree child a bit more. Truth be told, Evan was surprised she maintained any semblance of control, let alone have engineered a high-level imperturbable fortress. He wondered how she might have grown up had her upbringing been kind. Perhaps she would have excelled as a high-ranking Ministry official; her charisma was undeniable. Hate or love, people _remembered_ Bellatrix Black. But he supposed that wonderments were a waste of time, as the woman before him was no angelic saint, but rather a hardened soul. Stark in beauty, taught with cruelty…having learned the unavoidable facts of life. Currently, her eyes picked at him. She was dangerous. The child was no longer. He regretted that it would be him to further provoke the beast (and hand her over to a greater monster). But better to deliver the message when the beast was still young, than to wait until it fully stampeded. He assuaged and paid her with dangling knowledge.

"I_ figured _as much. Your sisters shan't know of this from me. I've no mind to incur your wrath. But do you know the sinning parties, Bella, do you _know _them?"

He truly asked the extent of her knowledge. She stared, violet mind roused at his words. He marveled as her clockwork ticked.

"I'm more than of age and my Blackrite fully integrated this past January. And Metamorphmagery only further suggests my…origins. Clearly my _Black_ heritage is not in dispute. Therefore, I believe it's my biological dam that remains in question. As the woman over there, married to my father and masquerading as mother, is begat of the Rosier line, _not_ the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black."

Rosier fell to stillness and glanced over at Druella, his younger sister. Vaguely, he recalled the long-ago tears of his mother, Rosalyn. An astute boy, Evan had paid them witness. He recalled bruises upon her wrists, and later, flutters from her rounded belly. The tiny bairn that came home to them in his mother's arms. His father couldn't bear to look at the child for many moons following. Until one fine day when the child called him "Pa-pa" and he began to act as such. His father couldn't deny the soft blues identical to his wife's, which looked up at him trustingly. Druella.

"And what if I told you, that woman is considered to be of the Crabbe, Rosier _and_ Black lines?"

Bella's eyes confused for the short second, before flood of knowledge burst brain.

"Then…"

"Your mother is my _half-sister_, through your late grandmother Rosalyn Rosier née Crabbe. Biologically, Druella and I are Crabbes through our shared distaff. And for trivia's sake, this means your maternal grandmother Rosalyn and your paternal grandmother Irma were first cousins. Their fathers were brothers."

Bella digested this and glanced askance at her grandmother Irma, still accosting Narcissa. Briefly her blood flared, ire fuming on the blonde's behalf. But Cissa appeared to be a force of her own, via silence. Rosier continued.

"Your mother is Rosier only in name; our father is Druella's sire in the eyes of the law. But biologically, her paternity…" he paused. "Why _that_ was donated by your dear paternal grandfather, Pollux Black, himself. Though be it through force or consent, I know not. Just bruised suspicions. Only my mother had the answer to that question and she died before I was old enough to ask."

Bella's thoughts reeled. Ministry law was clear: _Children born under the house of marriage belong to their mother's husband, regardless of genetic sire._ Bellatrix blanched and stared at the bag of bones heading the table. The connection was grossly concrete. Bella's paternal grandfather, Pollux Black, most likely raped Rosalyn Rosier: first cousin of his wife Irma, mother of Evan Rosier. That _union_ resulted in the child Druella, legally raised as a Rosier, but biologically a Black. Druella had then returned to the Black fold by marrying her half-brother, Cygnus. And subsequently, they produced Bellatrix and her sisters. The witch pulled a disgusted face. She thought herself hypocritical, yet the idea of a child conceived of such a union…it nauseated her. She nauseated herself.

"My mother is my aunt and my father my uncle…do they _know_?" Furiously she searched Evan's eyes. Her knuckles whitened, blending with tablecloth.

"I believe my sister does not. Until your Blackgifts emerged in such abnormal strength, I had only thought it conjecture. Andromeda, and I thought I'd been disproven." He watched her face tear asunder at the mention. "But then Cissa. Two out of three is proof enough. As for your father, I haven't the faintest clue. But truly, Bella, even if they _did_ know, do you really think the course of events would have altered?"

She pondered and concluding that it wouldn't have. After all, it didn't restrain her own…_pursuits_. He must have seen that particular gear twist in Bella's mind.

"After all, it doesn't seem to deter _you—_"

"TIS **NOT** THE SAME THING!" She exploded upon him. Disturbed, she drained her wine glass, tongue swiping her disdaining lips and feeling stained. They never had a chance. Perhaps Andy was the lucky one after all, to escape blood heirloom.

Rosier was thankful his spellwork contained her wrath. He remained calm, despite the hostility that seemed to clog his throat in a wandless silencing charm. It was only experience that managed to pry his mouth open and wrench sound out his throat.

"Temper much, dearie? And isn't it? You lie with your _siblings_, as do your father and mother." He couldn't help the chuckle, suspecting Narcissa wasn't exempt. "Cousins too, if you want to get technical." Family fuckery and her sisters were in fact her half first cousins. Tangentially, he pondered how the tapestry would even endeavor to reflect _that_ if prompted.

Bella's wrath quieted, but was no less distinct as she hissed at her uncle.

"Perhaps unsettling and morally distasteful, but it's not the _incest _itself that proves a problem. More so it's the threat of conception; _that _is the crime against nature. And last time I checked, while I myself may be such an abomination…I'm a wand short of providing that _particular_ service to my sisters. Shall we review anatomy?"

He scowled. Deciding now was not the time to illuminate her to—

"Besides, Uncle," her voice rasped salaciously. Bellatrix stroked the stem of her wine glass, idly commenting with bomb. "That would require…ah…full consummation. And I'm not an idiot. Both of them must marry. Papa may be binary, but I highly doubt claims of a horse accident would fool him. So the_ rest_ is for later." She sipped her vintage, making no attempts to pussyfoot.

Unbalanced, Evan reevaluated her; conversations with his niece were never stable. Bellatrix took Rosier's recovery time to glance at her grandfather, the nasty old hack he was. Hatred swelled within and spilled past her control. She ignored Cissy's tendrils in their blood, worrying warning. _He_ was the reason she was the daughter-niece of her sibling parents. _He_ was the reason Blackrite was dominant and threatened to consume her soul from the inside out. It was _his_ blood that bound sisters to her in fervidity. And it was _his_ fault that Bella's very existence was an abomination of nature. Again, Rosier played devil's advocate. He tested her theory, curious to comprehend her logic.

"Still, niece-ling, you grasp at technicalities. What gives you the right to play judge and yet commit the same crime?"

Bellatrix scoffed at the idea that anything would be denied to her in this life.

"It is not a right to give, rather one to take. And my existence has taken it for me; I had no choice in the matter. You speak of right, I speak of rite. By my own nature, I _am_ the taboo. I never had a chance to play by the arbitrary rules of existence, even if I wanted to."

And a longing part did. She filled her glass again, meniscus near the brim. Knowing the full extent of her origins, Bellatrix had never felt more Black. As darks threatened to control, she frantically searched blood for hints of remaining light. She prompted one to the surface. Slimly, it shone as lilting emeralds, flashing through mind and veins. It wasn't enough. But then tingles and Bella felt cerulean stare. This ocean breeze kissing her cheek. _Muffliato _couldn't shield from that, those concerned eyes trailing her clenched jaw. And inside, the fortified sphere she called sun, pulsed. Bellatrix basked there for a moment, taking refuge, before allowing sol to sink once again. Biding its time in the depths. But their blood simmered. She felt more than saw: Cissa's trembling lips on the rim of glass, sipping away their oddities. Drinking composure.

_'Dammit, Cissy. Oh Cissa.' _Bella's breath hitched. The tenderness made it hard to keep control on lockdown. Made her question why she even tried.

Rosier watched strange expression overcome the witch's face. For a second, he swore she bathed inside a personal solace. But then it faded and she resumed her onerous self. He reflected. The time was ripe. His niece remained in balance, but he sensed it would only take a small trip to tip the scales. Decision made, Rosier caressed his left forearm, the subtle message of a mission complete. Under his sleeve, return fire burned glee, making clear his message had been well received.

_[Minerva's mind had been quiet throughout most of the exchange. Now she was fury.]_

The next phase had begun.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> R & R, my lovelies.

**Translation:**  
>- <em>Grand-mère <em>(French) - Grandmother.


	13. Dec 31, 1968 I: Deplorable Deeds

**Author's Disclaimer: This chapter contains explicit scenes of rape / non-consensual sex. Proceed accordingly.**

**Author's Note I:** This chapter might be the most challenging content I've written to date. It made me feel dirty and dank in the worst of ways. If you have been faithfully reading, I implore you: review. My mind could use a little refuge.

* * *

><p><em>[The dinner scene paused to a stop. Professor McGonagall felt the memory shift, but this time there was no displacement. In disturbing motion, time fast-forwarded to a week or so later. Scenes flashing by. The sensation rattled Minerva's innards and her stomach protested the nausea. She relieved when the pictures finally chose a moment and solidified. The Gryffindor found herself in a bedroom at Manor Noir, plopped upon a canopy bed diagonally across from a window.]<em>

Bellatrix perched on the upholstered sill beneath the rose window. A book lay open in lap, but her gaze neither absorbed the language nor its meaning. Instead, she looked out the window and beheld lush moors beyond the manor. A hefty snowfall coated hills and dipping valleys. Pine trees sparkled; layers of frost adhered to their spiny fingers. It was a peaceful beauty. A mocking beauty. It mocked Bellatrix who felt nothing of splendor. She raged inside. A yell worthy of war and she hurled the book sideways at her door. With a grand **THUD** it connected and unbound several pages; they fluttered about in the air. The destruction was a quick home. Tears of rage and unidentifiable emotion forced out of her. Bookless, she pulled knees to her chest as lungs gave way to silent scream. Nails dug into already bruised and bloodied skin. Head turned away from the beauty outside and half resided upon her shoulder…seeking small comfort. Finding none.

_[As she took in the witch's condition, Professor McGonagall released a tumultuous sob and cupped her mouth in revulsion. Forgetting herself, Min hurried to her protégé's side. Or attempted to. But no matter how far she ran, the distance between bed and windowsill never diminished. It seemed that as observer, Minerva was meant to remain at a distance. Back upon the bed she huddled defeat into herself, much like Bellatrix; a miserable agony. Helpless. And without company.]_

A dark bruise covered cheekbone and shaped itself into a handprint. Coupled with a metal ring culprit, blunt force had split skin, leaving Bella's jawline stamped with raw laceration. Her hair was wild as always, but to an absurd extent. It dreaded in places, disheveled beyond normal recognition and giving the witch a rather deranged appearance. The black eye didn't help. Exposed décolletage was littered with deep gouges and contusions, several of which suspiciously looked like bite marks. Bella's arms were scratched, but comparatively pristine. Bruises tattooed shackles around her wrists. She didn't wear shoes and several toes appeared broken, snapped painfully. Her dressing gown was torn in several places, divulging more injuries underneath. Parts of the skirt were torn off, revealing rug-burned knees. The rest of the material hiked up, a limp pile about her thighs. Black. With blacker stains imbrued.

_[Minerva trembled as her eyes found inner thighs; pale canvas painted with smears of dried blood. The terrible trails travelled upward toward Bella's apex, where they disappeared from the professor's gaze…beneath the distressed skirt.]_

Shaking fingers. Bella traced a bruise thumbprinted into her wrist. And for the first time in many _many _years, she allowed herself to cry.

_[Unable to do anything else, the professor's silent tears joined her student's in harrowing symphony. Perhaps it was a foolish notion, but it comforted the witch; she hadn't been there for Bellatrix the first time around. But perhaps Minerva could offer comfort to Bella's memory if only with her presence. Somewhere off in the bowels of reality, a faint acknowledgement was made. Perhaps even appreciated. Perhaps not.]_

Bella was mess. Great sobs heaved the woman's chest, each rattling a broken-cage breath and knocking fractured ribs into immense pain. But despite the added hurt, Bellatrix found herself unable to staunch tears, this visceral reaction. It was a strangely silent affair. Even in her most vulnerable moment she held onto her sounds and found control. Eventually tear ducts ran dry. Bella resumed staring out the window, her mind back on hiatus. Currently she strove for fiction; anything but actuality was haven. Upon the sill she was a motionless thing, as if the simple act of moving would enforce reality. The witch remained as such for a long time, long enough for the sunset to begin. As her mind repaired itself, Bellatrix was helpless to the flashback that bombarded.

* * *

><p><em>Earlier that morning.<em>

Christmas vacation from Hogwarts was the antithesis of festive. The Blacks were their own religion; they did not celebrate the muggle holiday. Even solstice was a dire affair. A generation ago, a New Year's extravaganza might have invaded the manor, but in recent years the pattern had petered out. This morning, the table served and figures consumed morning meal. Andromeda shoveled down her omelette (much to Druella's vocal distaste) and absconded before anyone could retain her presence. The aged old house-elf continued attending her remaining charges: Madame Druella Black and her daughters, Bellatrix and Narcissa. Mobi was a wrinkled thing, many years past her prime. Still, despite the years, she was not close to her end. The elf prided herself on family loyalty. It gave her great pleasure to have continued her line; her son Kreacher served the distaff of the Black family, Madame Walburga Black. On tiptoes she poured Bellatrix another glass of peach nectar. The house-elf finished her task and eyed Bella's bare feet, flexing under the table, restless.

_That_ girl.

Mobi had been caretaker to many a Black son and daughter. But _this _one. It vexed the little elf that she never could keep Bellatrix shoe- or stocking-clad, even as a bairn. Her mouth twitched. Still. It wouldn't do well for the girl…not in this household. But then nothing did well for them here. Mobi eyed the two of them, the sunlight stiff in her chair and night owning the room. A paradox those two. Druella paid attention to everything but her offspring; the elf watched. Darling Narcissa sipped her tea daintily, while Bellatrix liked to play with her food before she ate it. She twirled her fork nastily, ruining eggs. Madame Black read the Daily Prophet and tut-tutted at the gossip she ate up within. Patriarchal absence was readily apparent; the head of the table was empty. _"Business,"_ (Cygnus had said) needed his attention…so Mobi had taken breakfast to his study. The elf approached Druella.

"Madame be needing an'ting else?"

"No. Your leave, Mobi." A dismissive hand fluttered in accompaniment. Druella rose swiftly, her breakfast untouched but concluded. Without another word, she swept out of the room much as she had their lives.

"Typical…" muttered Narcissa under breath. "It's not like her eldest was shoved out today or anything." The blonde pushed around her breakfast meats. "Bella." Her eyes whispered and misted. "Happy Birthday." Hand flourished and a small box revealed itself on the table, wrapped in black and sealed with ribbon green.

"Why Cissy, you nicked my spell and sarcasm. We'll make a rebel of you yet." Bellatrix preened; that was present enough. Perhaps the girl would learn to be a bit more self-serving after all.

The blonde blushed, recalling a red dress involving _that_ lesson. The witch tendered, both at the gift and Cissa's despondency. Bellatrix eyed the girl's plate and disliked the unkempt food masquerading as eaten. Far too steeled, Maman's lack of acknowledgement didn't faze the witch. But Cissa's dampened heart did. Cheekbones questioned tacitly, but Narcissa remained unyielding; sunrise refusing to shine. Bella held quiet until the girl turned up from her massacred toast, eyes shy and disquieted. Black held them steady.

"Cissa." The soft spilled into the air and settled between two souls. So much in a word — and nothing else to be said.

Bellatrix was under no illusion regarding their home life; soldered on a crappily dealt lot. But her favorite sister huddled to denial. But then again, Bella supposed survival was survival, no matter its manifesto. She touched the box and felt lighter for it…and for the blonde smile peeking out from hazy clouds. For moments the world was for two. The elf sighed fondly, chuckling at love, but took advantage of the anchored silence. She couldn't spare them from horror, much as she wanted. Bellatrix was their best defense. So Mobi broke the moment and addressed daughter Night.

"Master told Mobi ta bring forth the eldest Mistresses Black aft'a meal."

"Oh he _did_, did he?" Bella's eyebrow quirked at the high-pitched information.

Summons to her father never boded well. In a most sibling fashion, she and Narcissa locked gazes; blues overwhelmed with worry and onyx tiding the ocean.

"Yous a'ready now?" The house-elf squeaked.

But the sisters did not register this, as they held their own piecemeal conversation. Narcissa was the first to speak. Mobi watched them merge into dusk.

"Do you think it's—"

"Nothing I'm sure." Bella cut her off.

"But what if he—" Abruptly, Narcissa fell silent as finger graced her lips.

Bellatrix stood and peered down at her seated sister, night drawing near skies. And against that hand Narcissa's lip warbled in fear. The witch pulled Cissa's head to her waist and stroked the sunny hair, soothing. The blonde held fast.

"Calm your mind, Cissy-dear." Bella murmured and hoped she wasn't lying. "You've nothing to fear."

Ink brushed Narcissa's face as her elder leaned and fleetingly kissed her forehead. They met in twilight. Gently, Bellatrix extracted herself from Cissa's arms, having reached her saccharine threshold.

"Later, dearest." The box. A last brush was thank you; adoring knuckles on Cissy's face. "I'll_ always_ protect you…us." Emphatic, but Bella swiped the present and pocketed it. She patted it against her dress and winked, pulling at levity and gesturing impatience to the elf.

Black gazes held strong, as Mobi grasped at skirts. An elven snap and the pair disappeared with a **POP**.

Beside herself Narcissa whispered, "Oh Bella, _that's_ what I'm afraid of…"

Bellatrix found herself on the landing, at Andy's door. The elf hung back. Frustrated at her apparent task, the witch sighed but knocked anyway. No answer. Knuckles rapped firmer this time. The door flung open to reveal her sister; they looked at each other. Neither spoke welcome or hello. Bella's face must have told what words did not.

"It's time. I-isn't it." Andy reverted to childhood, stuttering.

Bella's nod was small, but clear. They spoke to each other, sans hostility, for the first time in months. The situation superseded and Bella was weighted with the gravity of her primogenital status. Cissa's birthday was catalyst.

"Far past. Consider yourself lucky for the extra year of reprieve while he expanded the winery holdings. It was only a matter of time. After all, come tomorrow and our youngest vintage is for sale." Glibly, Bellatrix regretted there were limits to her protection.

Andy winced at the truth, condemning Bella's entendre, well aware they were now a collected set, one Cygnus would play as fit. Seventeen may have been the age of majority in the wizarding world, but eighteen seemed the preferred safety in more modern times. Bella knew these past years of dying childhood had been borrowed.

"He's_ summoned_ us, hasn't he," Andy stated quite obviously.

Bella's lack of response spoke volumes. And it was only shared misery that stopped Bellatrix from clocking her sister a good one in the face.

"And Cissy?"

"Remains safe for now. I'll see that it stays that way, Meda." It was territorial. And then it was a last ditch effort, hope that the childhood sobriquet would do…anything. It didn't. At this Bellatrix was eerily calm, relieved in some way.

"You're not a bartering chip," Andromeda whispered gravely, as if she had cause to play at care. Despite their estrangement she found Bella's hand.

"I am, whatever sh—we need me to be. Come, sister. Dilatory measures won't change outcome."

Hands clasped awkwardly, Bella led Andromeda out to the landing where the elf met them. Andy felt nothing from their connection. Frayed as it was, it shouldn't be silent. She tried not to think of when last she'd felt her sisters at all, as she couldn't recall. It didn't occur to her that perhaps Bellatrix had clogged the last dregs of the bond preemptively, with this particular day in mind. Nor would it occur to Andy that this wasn't for her sake at all, nor Bella's.

"Mistresses are a'ready?" Mobi was soft in voice, aware of her charges' despondency. _'These two,'_ the elf thought. _'A strong Wind passing through Night.'_

A final glance between honey and coal. Stilted, but in some acknowledgement of history, Bellatrix brought clasped hands to her lips in chaste kiss. She turned to the elf.

"Take us."

Without further delay, the tiny hand grasped Bella's skirt once again. **POP**. The sound echoed shot-put in the emptied landing. They arrived several floors up before a grandiose set of double doors. Without ado, the elf knocked and announced them.

"Master, the two Mademoiselles Black."

Several moments of tight quiet. The storm gripped; Andromeda clung to Bella's hand tightly. It whitened in entirety. The door creaked open. Clasped hands dropped quickly. And then Cygnus was god.

"Mobi. Leave us." The master was in house.

To her owner, the elf produced a low bow; pointy nose grazing the wooden floor below. She tried not to fret or let attachment rule her duties. But she loved them, her bairn witches. Two short bows bestowed to the young misses before she popped out of sight. The elf reappeared in the kitchen scullery and began to prepare for the midday meal, hands shakier than age could account for. All the while she pondered the oddity of her young human Mistresses. She doubted the storm would weather day and night forever; it would simply pass through. She didn't doubt the sun.

Rigidly, the sisters stood in the hallway where Mobi left them. Neither Bellatrix nor Andy could be described as particularly lengthy women, but both were above average height. Without her infamous boots, Bella only prevailed by the slightest curl. (Andromeda would surpass her with the next growth spurt.) Still. Compared to the mass that was Master Cygnus Black III, they were dwarfed by his towering stature. Black was a man with handsome features and he knew it. He retained thick locks, curled upon proud head. His beard was neatly trimmed and further accentuated attractive features. Cygnus was of muscular build, but rather than stocky his height led to a thick musculature. Having too much bulk to him, the wizard was not a slender man, but rather chiseled and fit, in the way that _only _a Black could be.

"You're late," he growled.

By way of poor invitation, his robed form swept back into the chamber formidably. Without question, Bella and Andromeda followed, side by side. The elder opened mouth to respond smartly, but Andy feared her sister's tongue and beat Bella to it.

"The fault is mine, Papa. Deepest apologies."

Apparently this was a good gamble, as silence was Cygnus' reply. Andy and Bella stood before the great desk and its colossal window backdrop. Instead of taking seat at the ornate desk, Cygnus approached his daughters. Bookshelves lined the interior of the room, but he had enough clearance to circumnavigate the pair with extra space to spare. There was no preamble. Not that it would have been kinder if there were.

"Your hands in marriage have been arranged to the Lestrange clan. Their sons Rodolphus and Rabastan will make fine pureblood matches for you both."

In vain, Bellatrix had hoped her sire would have settled upon a kinder match for her softest sister. Even the Yaxley boy would have been better; at least he attempted to treat women with some amount of respect. But the Lestrange brothers were a known and ruthless pair. Rodolphus in particular had a terrible fondness for intimidation at best and a rampaging fanaticism for sadistic torture at worst. Both of their fathers were assumed Death Eaters, sons expected to follow in suit. But it was Rodolphus who was truly the crazed fanatic.

She winced as Andy let out an involuntary whimper at his pronouncement. Bella prayed Papa's circling footsteps would cover the sound. They didn't. His displeasure was abundant, heavy hand poised to strike her sister. Bellatrix didn't think as she stepped in front of Meda. The blow was not grazing. It thudded into jaw with a sickening **THWACK**, vibrating throughout her bones and eye sockets. She willed her knees to stand. Surprised, but not apologetic, Cygnus pulled his ringed hand away, slightly dumbfounded. Bellatrix ignored the slick of blood on his hand, but the sting of her jaw made itself known, open and wounded.

"_Foolish_ girl, to take a punishment meant for thy sister." He spat at the two.

Andromeda knew better than to go to her sister's aid; it would have only disserved. Bella was momentarily discombobulated, disoriented from impact. But after a short wobble, stamina regained her balance. Cygnus turned away, perhaps in contemplation. Bellatrix took advantage of his position and grasped Andy's arm in warning. Trying to calm the girl's silent hysterics. The situation was out of hand.

"_Ungrateful _whelps of mine…don't even knowa golden opportunity when it falls to your lap. I ought skin your hides and let the mudbloods use them as rugs." He spoke menace.

Neither sister responded. Anticipating her father's move, Bellatrix dropped the comforting touch; it would not do for him to see it. On schedule, he faced the pair. Andromeda physically trembled. Bella felt blood trickle down her neck, and like soft fingertips it matted into her hair. Apparently, Cygnus' crest ring had cut deeper than she'd thought. Despite the cause, her gift did not discriminate. She held back the lusty moan that rose up in chest. Instead, high chin denoted superiority, directing attention away from that of her less aberrant sister. Cold eyes regarded his eldest child, who met Cygnus' gaze without apprehension, with gall even. A flicker of reluctant pride made way to his mind. And not for the first time he regretted that Bellatrix hadn't been born his son. As daughter she was inherently worthless, only good for her worth in matrimony. But as son, even he recognized that her immense talent and will would have been a force to reckon with. Of his three offspring, it was only she that dared be unafraid in his presence. Perhaps he felt a flash of fondness.

"As eldest, _ma Belle_, I give you your pick: choose your brother." Perhaps it was a reward, but more likely just a schadenfreude curiosity.

Bella's mind whirled surprise. In the worst of situations it was the best-case scenario; perhaps she could protect her sisters after all. A fleeting notion crossed and she considered making the selfish choice, but Andy's quaking form easily dispelled this.

"The eldest for your eldest." It would be a hellish marriage for her, but she could take it. Andromeda would have perished.

"Rodolphus it is. Andromeda will go to Rabastan." Cygnus was unreadable in his opinion. Or more likely, he didn't opine at all.

From the corner of eye, Bellatrix watched a lone tear fall from honey lashes. For a moment she and Meda were small once again, growing flowers by the ravine — the closest sisters anyone on earth would find. Andromeda _knew_ the gift her sister gave. It wasn't necessarily happiness, but it _wasn't_ Hell: it was a chance. Caught up, Bella internally tripped. Their lighter bond, closed off from Andy, suddenly opened and poured through floodgates. Three sighed in relief, feeling others _there_. Andromeda couldn't help her smile as Bella's darker form of adoration shown through. And she wanted to giggle at wide-eyed Cissa, bouncing, remotely pleased at whatever goodness had befallen her sister. It was odd to _feel_ the blonde's chattiness and Bella's answering chuckle. But as sudden as it was there, the gate closed off. Bella's doing. They could not afford to loose themselves in Andy once more. Too much had changed between them, too much was at stake. Her own hurt she could handle. But not Cissa's.

"Happy with your lot, girl?" Cygnus mistook Andy's smile.

"Yes, Papa." It was more so a step above misery, but Andy supposed that was something. And despite the abrupt loss of bond sentience, the fragments lingered in her mouth.

"Good. Perhaps you will be worth something to me after all."

Successfully, Andromeda schooled her face neutral at the cruel commentary. Bellatrix embodied impassivity. And Cygnus destroyed on.

"Consider yourselves engaged. Once the property deeds have been signed by Master Lestrange, the paperwork will be owled to the Ministry."

Bellatrix fumed nonverbally as her father made them chattel. But she still had business to address; the matter of her youngest sister…remained. Cissy was a day shy of eighteen, but pureblood engagements were plotted early. It would be to Bella's advantage to secure her plan now. She knew: Cissa's uncommon beauty and suitors would begin a'calling, as soon as Bella and Andy's engagements went public. The wizarding world would call open season on the youngest Black girl. She'd rather manipulate Cygnus before such pandemonium.

"Dismissed." As if he hadn't just engendered life-altering events for his children, Cygnus went back to his desk and began inking upon parchment. The matter was closed and he promptly ignored the pair.

As if fearing some additional sentence, Andy made to leave quickly. She was almost at the door before realizing Bella hadn't followed her steps. Spread-eyed, Andy searched the witch's face from the cusp of doorframe.

"B—"

"Felicitations, Andy. You _really _should inform Maman and Cissa of the grand news." The nonchalance was off-putting, hard to read.

Most of the sentence was fluffed rhetoric; the mention of Cissa clued Andromeda in. Years of learning Bella-speak were never more useful than in this moment. Buried, but it was clear indication: Bellatrix would endeavor to protect the youngest of them all. Despite the veiled command, Andy hovered by the door. The two stared at the other for a long set of seconds. Bella saw a beautiful young woman: a past infatuation, but more importantly a sister. One she no longer knew well (partially due to her own actions of retreat). Andy found confusion. It pained her to leave Bellatrix to the wolf, alone. But stones were resolute, planting Andromeda with no choice but to leave. Eyes met a last time and then Andy's form fell out of sight, shutting the door.

The latch caught and clicked.

Alone on battlefield, Bellatrix stood before ostentatious desk and briefly considered plan of action. She began with docility and the waiting game commenced. Silent before her sire, Bella remained. At least five minutes dawdled before he chanced a look and noticed. His brow rose and Bellatrix was struck disgusted at the similarity to her own mannerisms. Of all the things to inherit. She supposed it could have been worse: she could have been stuck with Druella's intelligence. Or cankles. These thoughts and her face must have showcased. Docility done, she moved onto gumption.

"Have you something more to say, Bellatrix? Spit it out then, girl." Danger in his voice, and she trod upon hazardous ground.

But it _had_ to be done.

"I accept my engagement to Rodolphus on a…_condition_."

Bella hadn't time to brace before body writhed in pain. The Cruciatus curse snarled and held upon her. She didn't scream, but she couldn't help her limbs; they collapsed beneath, forcing Bellatrix to all fours on the carpet. The curse broke off suddenly and she panted exertion and pain. Despite this, a cruel smirk graced her lips — Bellatrix had a healthy respect for pain and those who could wield it. A sardonic situation, she supposed, being the current target. The deliberate creak of leather as Cygnus dismounted his throne and made way to her fallen form. Hair tips brushed black boots. She looked up at her peril.

"You dare play at bargaining, wretch?!" He hissed, wand still trained.

Bellatrix considered her answer and decided to leave it simple and belligerent.

"Yes." She grunted, as magical pain ripped through her once more, merciless in its probing knives. Again, it cut off.

"Daft girl. Your arrogance and I could Crucio all day. Perhaps I shall." Experimentally, he sent a short jolt, disdainfully watching his spawn contort. "You might as well inform me of your so-called condition. Either way, don't think you'll escape punishment. But first…to _business_." The wand resheathed and he was silent once more.

No curse shot through her system, so she stood. Bella managed, though her wobbling limbs protested angrily. Her face betrayed nothing but narrowed eyes. She was pleased though; a _business_ conversation meant Cygnus would regard her as equal for its duration. Afterwards, was another bloody story. But she couldn't concern herself with this…yet. She began.

"Regarding Cissa, I know you have begun her…_bidding _war." Money. It was all about the damn money. And well, perhaps a little about virginity. Though in Bella's case, this was a lost cause.

"You know very well, chérie, that she will go to the highest bidder, whomever that may be." In a rare moment Cygnus allowed the conversation with his eldest.

"I propose a deal, an accord between you and me. Forgo the other bids and marry her to the Malfoy boy."

"Has the stupid child fallen in love then?" Cygnus laughed dark amusement.

Bella couldn't help but think, _'Yes, as have I.'_ But as neither could have each other in this world, Malfoy was the logical choice. She sidestepped the question and provided support for her cause. (Bellatrix had an uncanny talent for litigation and persuasion.)

"Lucius is handsome, popular, rich…you know how women are. And Cissa is no exception to the rule, she'd welcome the match." That was stretching the truth. Still. "Not to mention, his father is _extraordinarily_ wealthy…"

Money. Despite the infamous vault stacked high with his share of the Black family fortune, Cygnus remained a man and a greedy one at that. And ever an astute woman, Bellatrix knew exactly which strings to pull, the ones to his purse. Still, Cygnus remained unconvinced.

"As is the Crabbe boy's sire. He remains the top bid."

_'Crabbe.'_ Bella grimaced.

Vinous Crabbe was their second cousin through Grand-mère Irma Black née Crabbe. Vinous was Ima's grandnephew, her bother's grandchild. The boy was depraved. And like pain, Bellatrix had a respect for depravity, as it proved useful on occasion. Several times, she had caught the Crabbe boy torturing unfortunate animals. Never a squeamish child, or one of much sentiment, she hadn't thought much of his cruel proclivity. After all, compared to her family, his antics rated low on the spectrum of disturbia. Rationality told her: better the animals than his sisters. Or hers. But then she'd found the body of Cissy's adored kitten, bloodied, dismembered, and quite dead. It had been a foofy white thing, horribly prone to cuddling. But Narcissa had doted on it cloyingly so. After the fluffball had been missing for a steady week, swollen skies asked Bella if she had seen Fluffy (unimaginatively, but aptly named). And the black-haired child, swayed by golden pulchritude, had lied, telling Cissa she thought the kitchen door had been left open by accident. It was one fib she hadn't regretted. After that, she'd kept the budding schizoid far out of Narcissa's path. And their moors. Bella would admit to hypocrisy; Crabbe was a mutual acquaintance. He ran in her coterie at school and was often a good first choice, should she ever need a body for intimidation. However, Bellatrix had no illusion as to the burgeoning evil he was. And Cygnus wanted to _marry_ her baby sister off to this sociopath, let his hands _touch_ her? At this, Bellatrix grew sick (and not just from jealousy). She played her next card. And hated her tongue.

"Master Crabbe is the only boy among his sisters and his son Vinous has four. But the Malfoy's have a well-recorded proclivity for sons. A daughter hasn't been born of their house in centuries. If you couldn't have sons yourself, you could rest assure that this union would bear you a grandson." Bellatrix restrained the immense urge to vomit inside her mouth. Despite bile, for the time being she suppressed the sanctity of her gender in favor of the common bias and uber favoring of male heirs.

Cygnus eyed his daughter oddly. Even to his pathological mind, it bemused that she disregarded her gender and advocated to win. But his eyes flashed; Bellatrix had his rapt attention. She pursued and pointed out problems.

"The Lestranges are known to throw…blanks, after the first child. And the generation before last was daughter-ridden." T'was true, Rod and Rad were aberrations. "What good is wealth, Papa, if you've no guaranteed grandson as eventual heir?" She said this as carefully as possible, knowing the precariousness of the topic.

Traditionally, wealth was passed through the patriarchal line. Therefore it enraged Cygnus that most of his wealth would pass to his eldest daughter. Not because she was his eldest child, but because she was the eldest of her generation. He couldn't escape it, as it was a magically binding axiom: _"In the absence of sons, the Master's fortune shall pass to the eldest of his children's familial generation." _This highly amused Bellatrix. (It hadn't occurred to the fatuous clause writers that this could still apply to a daughter — the clause did not stipulate the gender of the alternative heir. Therefore, poorly written Ministry law thwarted Master Black; legally his fortune would belong to Bellatrix, no matter which way it wrote.) And of course, the situation was exacerbated by her claim to familial power. He may be her Lord Regent, but not for much longer. Still, Cygnus countered her claim.

"And what good are sons, if there's minimal wealth to give them? I'd rather gain a rich dowry and abide by granddaughters, than gain pittance on a gamble of grandsons."

Greed. She'd forgotten his greed; it overrode everything. Yes, even sons. Plan C(raptastic) it was.  
>"Give her to Malfoy and I'll cover the difference of the bid." The phrase hurt her mouth.<p>

Her father surprised, eyebrow peaked. Skeptically, he questioned the means. But not the premise.  
>"With what funds, Belle? Your inheritance and will is still mine for another two years."<p>

_'Damn.'_ She'd forgotten about that. Though clearly of age at twenty, Ministry law wouldn't release her trust fund until age twenty-two. Bellatrix had one card left, her ace in the hole. It would be detrimental to her person to play it. But the benefits for Cissy would be great. Without it the future was grave. The idea of Cissa's wedding night to Crabbe taunted in its potential viciousness. Trusting cerulean and spun silk rested heavily on her mind. Bella threw wildcard and gave up her well-loved control.

"Then take my deeds as such." Her voice drawled. (Years later, a certain blonde would inherit this trait, much to Cissa's consternation.)

It was a venture, leaving the ball in her father's court. He wasn't known for playing nicely. A menacing grin fell across his face, hungry. Cygnus loved power and control as much as Bellatrix did. And more than anything he relished control over her.

"You would exchange these…_deeds_ for your sister's betrothal to Malfoy?"

A last chance to renege. Faint consideration took hold, but the thought of fading blue and blood in yellow hair cemented Bella's resolve.

"I would."

"So be it." The menacing smile grew darker in revelry. "Malfoy for Cissa, in exchange for your deeds."

Bellatrix closed her eyes. At least _one_ of them would be something like happy or safe. She did not dwell long on her misfortune.

"I won't be unreasonable, but my deeds are not infinite. Let them reflect the bid difference." And so Bellatrix began the nasty business of negotiating herself to her father. She detached and became a cold necessity, and forgot she was bargaining for her own soul.

"That would be 600,000 Galleons," Cygnus dropped casually. "Payment: one deed for every 100,000 galleons, six deeds in summation."

600,000 galleons. Sodding hell. Bellatrix, master of emotion, did not betray her disgust. That was not the bid, mind you, but the bidding _difference_ between house Crabbe and house Malfoy. It seemed her sister's virginity was not priceless, simply expensive. Bella's deeds, apparently rated high as well for Cygnus: valued at 100K apiece, starting bid. In some dank corner she was flattered. Horrified.

"I counter the terms: two deeds. One for every 300,000." And the bartering began.

Her offer was far too steep for Cygnus. He wanted his money's worth from his recalcitrant offspring. After all, he was loosing 600K to this slip of a chit. He would milk her to the last drop.

"Four. One for every 150,000 galleons. I'll go no lower."

Bellatrix knew her last hand.

"Three, _carte blanche_. One for every 200,000." She hated. "And I'll marry Rodolphus directly after I graduate, two summers from now."

Cygnus considered. His headstrong daughter was known for epic procrastination. And by law, the eldest daughter must marry before the rest. And here she was, offering complete cooperation, practically guaranteeing him three dowries within four years. All this, in addition to her three deeds of payment. It was more than sufficient.

"Accepted. MOBI!" he bellowed the last. And wondered if it was oversight on her part (it wasn't) that she'd be under Rodolphus' thumb for those last few months before the age of twenty-two. Without her full inheritance and coronation, she was vulnerable. (But she had plans; the boy was thick and thought with cock.)

Bellatrix had no time to value her victory (and defeat), as a loud **POP** sounded and the elf appeared, bowing.

"Master Black, what need yous?" The little elf was relieved to find her Bella in one piece.

Cygnus considered his options. His terrible mind found one.

"Bring me the newest manservant hire."

Mobi looked confused (and then worried), but did as he commanded. Another **POP**. Bella and her father were left in silence. He eyed her, thinking. It wasn't long until the creature bowed back into the study. Accompanying Mobi was a young lad of perhaps twenty. He was neither handsome nor lacking. He too bowed to Master Black. And the mademoiselle.

"Leave, Mobi."

The house elf had onerous premonition. But she couldn't disobey her Master. No other course then but to leave. So she did. But not without a last glance to her Bellatrix in warning. The boy did best to hide his nerves; to be summoned before the Master of the house was nothing good.

"Your wand. I have need of it, boy. Bella, your arm."

She realized his intent, but there was no way to deny him without putting their deal (and Cissa) in danger. Under duress, Bellatrix obliged. It was quite possibly the gentlest touch she'd encountered from him since early childhood, this firm handshake between reluctant business partners. In low voice, Cygnus instructed their bonder-to-be of the terms. The boy failed at concealing his horror at such agreement. He did hate to see any lady (and Bellatrix was a fine lady) forced into accord. More than once, his eyes flickered to her bloodied jaw, his own clenched. But at least understanding his role, the boy relaxed, but only a little.

"Get on with it then! Cast the Vow." Impatience erupted.

Still nervous, the wizard shook. But he aimed wand toward their embraced hands. Golden cords wrapped their forearm clasp. Quietly, the lad spoke.

"Will you, Master Cygnus Black, upon pain of Death, agree to arrange the marriage of your youngest daughter, Narcissa Black, to the young Master Lucius Malfoy, in exchange for the terms set by Mistress Bellatrix Black?

Shining eyes bore into Bella's; she couldn't look away. His eyes, she realized, were like her own.

"I will." They hungered upon Bella.

Her soul was a freezer.

"And will you, Mistress Bellatrix Black, upon pain of Death agree to wed young Master Rodolphus Lestrange, in two summers' time? Will you agree to enact three deeds as chosen by your sire? Both these acts, in exchange for the terms set by Master Cygnus Black?" (In later years, the lad's precise wording would charm Bellatrix. And serve her well.)

Wand further secured their grasp. And all Bellatrix had to say was "I won't" and the bond would never form.

_'But Cissa.'_

"I will." Her voice chilled, emotionless.

Bella felt the vow take hold; it penetrated her system and settled there, now a permanent fixture. Glow brightened green and then dissipated. Hands loosened and fell apart, the Vow now complete. Bellatrix suspected her father's action before it occurred. Preemptively, eyes flickered to the lad, urging him to run. The boy didn't compute the message, not until Cygnus aimed wand at the flustered manservant. Bella's eyes closed, accepting the atrocity and her inability to stop it.

"_Avada Kedavra_."

A brilliant flash of light and the boy fell where he stood, inches from Bella's bare feet (hidden by flowing skirts). A true testimony to her upbringing, the act neither horrified nor fostered customary recoil. Only the abhorrence of pragmatics remained.

"He was only a boy. Was that really necessary?" Words spewed out her mouth before Bellatrix could curb them.

Cygnus overlooked the impetuousness and considered her.

"You know as well as I do, that boys become men. And cannot be trusted. Just an orphan, _ma chérie_, no one will care."

She cared. He had suffered because of her (glassy eyes stared from the floor, accusing). Dead. Though not by her hand, it might well have been. Numbed, Bella was quiet, watchful as her father waved the casual hand. The corpse disappeared, most likely to the bowels of the cellar, to the fiery mouth of the incinerator. Loose ends tied up, hungering eyes found her once more.

"Pay up, Bellatrix."

Evidently Cygnus meant to name the first deed. She attempted to quash anxiety. What was done was done, Bella reasoned. No use fretting further about it.

"The Dark Lord."

Her skin jumped with crawls. And Cygnus enjoyed her horror.

"You will join him, follow him, serve him. Yes, daughter, you will be his Black crowning jewel."

It was unexpected in atrocity. Bella's insides tumbled, as her control was rendered naught. Not that she _hadn't _been considering her uncle's invitation, but until this point it had only been that: a consideration. Bellatrix had found some small comfort in the impending marriage, knowing it at the very least would allow her to break from Cygnus' hold. She had enjoyed the idea of no forced master at all; anyone would be daft to think that she'd allow Lestrange any power. The boy was awful yes, but unimaginative. But now she was stuck in a fathomless rut, partially of her own making. Choice had been removed. Bella sneered anger, realizing she had been traded from one master to another. And what of Professor McGonagall, her chosen mentor? She would not be able to answer to both, she feared. Cygnus enjoyed Bella's fury. He had foreseen that she would dominate Lestrange, and it would not do to allow Bellatrix free reign. Her obedience was addicting and a fitting gift for the Dark Lord. With morbid curiosity, he watched as the Vow took hold, having taken Bella's silence for mutiny. Her throat constricted, proof the Unbreakable Vow had been successful. Not keen to suffocate, she spat out:

"I'll do your will!" Immediately, her throat loosened. Bella angrily rubbed her neck and gasped life. But relief didn't supersede horror. _'The Dark Lord.' _Her mind struggled at comprehension, at the forced submission.

Cygnus chuckled in apparent mirth.

"Oh yes, you will." He neared her now, stalking slowly.

Her hackles raised as Cygnus wandlessly locked the door, and she knew the business portion of their time had concluded. Bella kept her breath even — It was arduous as he circled, so close that his form brushed. He stopped behind her. A large hand drew back Bella's mane of curls, exposing the side of her neck. It pleased Cygnus, the stickiness of blood mingling with tresses. Forcefully, he bit her neck to savage. Bellatrix hissed at the familiar pain, but held head high as he molested. Frowning, her sire pulled away. Her refusal to submit annoyed, angered the wizard. Into her ear he rasped:

"Pity you that weren't born a son, your talents are abundant. And yet, fate must have torn a hole." He wanted to smear the sneer off her face. "But so long as I've you as daughter, I mean to use you and your holes. And you will let me."

Bella succumbed to inevitability as the Vow tightened in her chest and acknowledged the second deed. Despite her revulsion and distress, she found silver lining and was slightly amused: he wasted a precious deed on something so base as rape. She answered coolly and told him as much.

"How unoriginal. Nothing you haven't done before, Cygnus."

Bellatrix called him by name. She always did...before. It distanced her somehow. Perhaps then she could pretend it was a stranger who invaded her body. Somehow this was preferable. It had been her childhood daydream. Her older mind now appreciated the horror of this: to twist and corrupt a child so deeply that they wish for anonymous rape as a refuge. She fell into her old habit of pretend. He was just a man, no one she knew. Cygnus chuckled evilly in her ear, nails digging into her arms.

"Ah ah ah, _ma Belle_. I can't have you escaping off into dream-world, no that won't do at all. Oh no Trixie, this isn't going to be a repeat of pillaging your limp body. No, I _order_ you to be an active participant."

In horror, Bellatrix felt the bond flicker inside, accepting the caveat. She didn't have time to disobey as Papa suddenly shoved her to the floor. Startled, she tripped over her feet. With a sickening crack, a toe or two snapped as her foot snagged carpet on the way down. The pain was clean. Sharp. And it was only the mantra in head that bought proud Bella to her knees, before him.

_'Andy, Cissa. Andy, Cissa. Cissa. Cissa. Cissa.'_

Bellatrix closed her eyes and thought of suns, as the unmistakable sound of buttons accosted her ears. Fabric rustled. She scrunched eyes tighter, trying to escape the knowledge that his outer robes were loosening. Then no more sounds.

"Look at me, whore."

Her eyes flashed open, violets rising and furious. Disdainfully, she eyed his large cock, protruding and hard. Bella was determined to deny him her degradation, despite what would come. Her vitriol released, seeing no reason to hold back. She would control what she could.

"I see no whore here but you," Bellatrix fired. "You sold your child, in exchange for raping the other."

Having enough of lip, he grabbed her already bruising jaw. Cygnus forced her mouth open and unceremoniously shoved inside her. Bella tempered her gag reflex and was very aware of her teeth. He must have read her thoughts and imparted bass line.

"You bite me, I kill Cissa." Her eyes flashed orange in momentary terror. But he felt her face relax underneath his crushing hand. It was similar to the very first threat of years ago, the one that shattered Bella's innocence: _"It'll be our little secret, ma Belle. But breathe a word to anyone, and I'll do the same to your sisters and kill them." _At the age of nine, she had believed him. As she did now: it was no idle threat.

_'For Cissa. For Cissa.'_ Her mind repeated this as adage.

He began to thrust into her throat; it was unforgiving. Not about pleasure, only power. He aimed to maim. She was soundless, simply took what he forced. But still, it aroused him to break her. He pulled out of her mouth suddenly. Face blanched of all emotion, Bella wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. This displeased Cygnus somehow. He struck her hard across the face, enjoying the small whimper of pain as she crumpled. Cygnus grabbed her by thick mane and pulled. With a snarl, Bellatrix had no choice but to scramble as he dragged her to the desk. Unable to keep up, her knees burned from the carpet. He threw her onto the desk, bent over. She struggled furiously, as one hand held her down and the other grappled at her full skirts. He half ripped them, forcing gathers about her waist and pinned Bella's arms behind her back, painfully. A sinister chuckle sounded as she was bared. She outraged and yelled furious gutturals, as he entered her roughly from behind. In dark sarcasm, her mind found defense mechanism. _'Truly, Bella? Of all the mornings to be rebellious and forgo knickers…genius move really.'_ She was dry and it was hot poker from the fire as he took his pleasure. Cygnus didn't wait for her to adjust, simply began slamming into her, mercilessly, his hands digging into her hips. As pain intensified, Bella went away.

_It was a simple scene: Narcissa and Andromeda by the ravine, a picnic-blanket day, peaceful in its summer silence. Contentment swept their land. _

Cygnus grew more and more ireful, as his thrusts no longer seemed to reach the girl. He jerked her head back, finding blank and peaceful eyes.

_Bellatrix wasn't usually one for taking affection, but now the idea assuaged her. In the grass by the river, Andromeda sat, Bella's head in her lap. Narcissa lay beside her, playing with Bella's fingers and cuddled against the darkest sister. (Thinking hands traced patterns.) Bellatrix buried her face in blonde tresses, breathing sunlight, drinking sky-hearts. Meda toyed with her curls, countenance fond at the blonde's affection. A blessing of sorts and Andromeda would murmur, "We love you, Bella. She loves you." And Cissy would shyly lean to Bella, bestowing a kiss to parted lips. Bellatrix didn't dwell on taboos here. After all, it was her own mind, her own escape. _

The patriarch growled; it wouldn't do if she weren't there. He pulled out and propped her on the desk to face him. Heinously, he bit exposed chest and neck until pale skin broke. The intentionality ripped her back into reality. Painfully.

_And Andy's warmth left her. Cissa's lips were jerked from her own._

Bellatrix returned to disaster. The pain was great and she wasn't impressed. Mostly, it pissed her off to have lost the mental escape. After all, his brand of pain was no stranger to Bella. As he bloodied her with bites and blasphemy, she felt the immense urge to knee him in the nuts. She gripped the desk. Her position was optimal for it…_why_ hadn't she done it already? Confused by pain, her brain stuttered memory. _'The Vow. Andy. Cissa.' _This, her dutiful mind reminded. _'Ah yes, you're submitting to the pig for their sake.' _Somehow this made all this difference. Momentarily unable to return to fairyland, Bella forced her eyes to meet his; there would be no pitiful hiding. He wanted participation, she would give it to him. Harshly. She remembered her weapons: words. As his mouth continued to ravage, she spat out gritted teeth.

"You know, _Papa_." She mocked. "The Lestrange family would have good reason to renege on both dowries, if they learned my virginity was compromised by your hand."

Perched and prisoner on the desk, Bellatrix found small satisfaction as her words penetrated and Cygnus' face paled. (She'd hold onto that expression for weeks.) Abandoning his mouthful pursuits, he forced open her legs, the telltale sign of trauma beginning to show on her bloodied womanhood. Despite her injured position, Bella's haughty demeanor remained. She braced herself, smirk and eyes dark and abundant. His response was the expected cruelty. Hips and words shot forward and shoved into her again, piercing Bellatrix to the hilt.

"They'd have better reason to punish you, the slut who spreads legs for everyone: Bellatrix the Whore." He pounded.

She grunted at the unforgiving invasion. Despite her resolve, inklings of shame wrapped her round. _'Whore.'_ The word bored into her skull. At school, she had found power in methods of the flesh. Sex was weapon. Her father had been a most thorough teacher in this. Bellatrix saw the power of such an act and used it accordingly: boys, girls. All of them coveted her curving body, in one way or another. They thought her a temptress and she saw fit to extract their deeds and alliances in exchange. A rare book, a cover-up, information, release, authority…all these she gained. Her virginity stolen long ago by kin, she saw no reason to remain pure, not if she could gain from use. To be fair, she understood the appeal of sex in and of itself. And she knew her desire for Cissa predominated the rest. But years of rape had twisted her compass. The relationship between sex and affection still eluded her, as did many other social norms. In Bella's world, hate and sex were familiar associates. It confused her head then, the onslaught of tender emotions she associated with Narcissa. Professor McGonagall. Rosier. Even Andy. She _felt_ the differences between these relationships. And counted herself lucky that some sense of normality endured. But in some ways for Bella, sex remained merely a thing to do. Much like homework. Dancing. Torture. But still. _Whore_. That demeaning word and confusion welled up inside her. _Whore_. Hurt. To her father she said nothing and turned her head away. Cygnus grinned his triumph. If he couldn't break her in the physical, he could break her mind. And he did.

"Poor…"

Thrust.

"Slutty,"

Thrust. Thrust.

"Bellatrix…"

His assault came crueler now and she felt a painful stickiness between her legs. It wasn't arousal. She ignored the hollowing pain, or tried to. But her mental ground had been grated far down. He dug her a trench, rasping awful in ear, grunting his satisfaction.

"No one to love you, little girl." He slammed this home, cock bruising her walls. "You're only good for a _fuck_, daughter. So tight, for such a loose wench."

Despite herself, a lone tear trickled out the corner of eye. (Forlorn, they had turned a murky shade grey.) Quickly, she banished anymore on the way. _'For Cissa.'_ She minded again. Weak, but it was there. _Cissa._ A bit of heart and she felt less buried. She held to red dress memories and everything inbetween.

Still, he saw the one tear and cackled. Cygnus forced her face forward. The Vow took this as command; she couldn't look away. Large hands manhandled hips, sliding Bella against his shaft. Up, down. Faster, faster. The desk perch became precarious, as did balance. Bellatrix disgusted as her hands sought purchase on Cygnus' arms, a terrible anchor for her body. She felt sick when he moaned at the touch. Nails dug his pleasure into her hips and thighs. This new pain was fuel and she thought of finishing lessons. Sirius. Sneaking wine from the ballroom. Honeydukes. Corsets. Pudding. Blue eyes. The ravine. Anything but this. But he was hammer in her mind and cunt, and she could not think him away. Brief moments and she considered letting him win. Surrender was tempting — so many damned years and she was tired of fighting a forever war. Tired. It would be so easy to…but Cissa. Her goddamn Cissa. And Bellatrix dug again for sunshine and refused defeat. She needed to combat this and resolved to make it less pleasurable for him. Words again. Those seem to disquiet.

"You're an idiot, Papa. I've known love. I _know _love."

A rainbow of skyblue, emerald, and honey painted the back of her eyes. Cygnus failed to keep her from that. His roaring expression and Bella could not help but smirk in victory, despite her abused body.

"Well," he snarled. "I take comfort that after this, you'll only think of me." He breathed down her throat.

Smirk fell from her face. She cringed at whatever horror he meant to pull from his sleeves. Surprise gasped, when harsh hands left her hips and wrapped around her torso. Gently, he helped her to arch, cradling the small of her back in awful parody. Bellatrix tried not to notice as his thrusts morphed from painful, into slow and languid. The witch trembled as faint stirrings of pleasure took their dreaded hold. She swore in understanding.

"Fuck, you can't be ser—" Appalled, she stared at him. Unable to decide which was worse: painful rape…or pleasurable.

Cygnus grinned nastily at her comprehension. His daughter would remember this, great horror amongst forced fondness. Forever knowing that he made her body his and that she succumbed in the worst of ways.

_'No no no no no.'_ Bellatrix anguished and violently shook her head, curls unkempt and panicking. She had no defense as lips claimed her mouth, far too tender and knowing. It felt…_god_ it felt better than before. Anything would. Her body was starved, eager to intake anything to soothe pain. Until now, Cygnus had never attempted to please her _that_ way. It had always been about him and power. And pain. Bellatrix tried to focus, tried to cling to the pain of before; it was the _better _anguish. Disturbed, she returned his kiss readily, though her mind wailed, screaming protest. Her stomach revolted, stabbing her gut with pitchfork nausea. But then, the cruel graze of his thumb on clit. Bella gasped into his mouth. Demon hand played there gently and her body was unable to separate pleasure from evil; she writhed, head rolled back. And despised living. Truly she was stunning, he noted with detached inventory: flushed cheeks, rosing up pale. Blood and bruises raking her form. Her body was undeniably desirable. But to him, his spawn's beauty was eye-bound, as they simultaneously flooded with warped desire and hatred.

"Well, well, well…look at that." He chuckled. "Another weakness in you. Shrewd or not, still a _woman _after all." The sneer was disdainful. But he obviously enjoyed it, her woman-ness.

(Absurdly, Bella found a bit of herself and had inclination to snort — because thinking with cock wasn't an even bigger weakness? She held onto that. Sarcasm. It helped.) He stroked. The moan she let out startled them both; her in absolute horror, him in pleasurable mirth. Bellatrix had no defense. The Vow required she finish the deplorable deed. But her mind bent awfully, detesting this newfound pleasure that defied her glowering animosity. What did that make her — a victim or a partner in his crime? Neither option seemed the lesser evil. Fuck it. She resolved to finish this as quickly as possible, deciding the means were moot, so long as it brought about the end. Hating herself, Bellatrix gave into his attentions. Black groaned as her hips began to meet his, firmly. His moan grated on her soul. But Cygnus was absorbed now and did not notice when Bella's eyes finally glazed over, back in fantasy. Escape. Survival. Cissa would pull her through.

* * *

><p><em>Back to the blanket, back to the grassy knoll. It was Meda that held her now, from behind. Chin perched on Bella's shoulder in look-about and Andy playfully tugged tendrils. Still in two places, Bellatrix shook and grasped fiercely at the woman's hand. Surely in a way she wouldn't in reality. (Bella sorely missed the days when this was possible.) As if knowing, Andromeda soothed her cheek, promising solace here, if Bella would only unrestrain her brain and let it free. But even in the land of escape, Bellatrix fought surrender. She shook her head, denying. Andy implored. <em>

_"Let your mind do this, Bells. Please. You know deep down I'd want you do to anything to…survive. Can you do that for me? For her?" _

_Dream-Andy nodded to their sister: sprawled happily on blanket and weaving a daisy crown. The blonde hummed slightly off tune, but no less enchanting. Bella squeezed the hand and Meda took it for yes. Together, they regarded their youngest sister. Impishly, Andromeda flicked her hand, amused when Cissa shrieked and grabbled at her dress…and at the magical ice cube sliding down her back. Giggling and incensed, but the blonde took Andy's offered hand, blushing when honey pulled her to them. To Bella. Cissy's face was wry, placing the daisy chain atop Bella's curls. Daring her to contradict. Those wide and laughing skies, and Bellatrix wanted the girl. Andy's hand upon her waist caressed gently in sisterly embrace, soothing…allowing this. With a chaste peck to them both, the brunette pulled away and stood, gently prompting Cissa into Bella's arms. Her blessing. A knowing look to Bellatrix, before Meda stood and whistled off into the trees, merrily. Perhaps going to find them berries. _

_"Bella…"_

_And shy Narcissa paid her jaw a soft kiss, tentatively worshipping, much as she had in the courtyard. Bellatrix tasted the yellow of her hair, felt the porcelain under her hands. She relaxed into the fantasy. It calmed the mind. But even here she was reluctant to concede fully. She cradled the witch gently and wondered which of her thoughts ought be considered demons at this point. Impatient, fantasy took a startling route, providing her an alternative._

_"Miss Black."_

_That voice. Scottish lilt fluctuated between spartan and amused. She knew it well. Bella's eyes stuttered, as Minerva McGonagall stood before them, blanket-side. The professor sank down, behind Cissa. Protective hands finding golden waves. Bella approved when the witch nuzzled her sister's neck and relished when Cissa stared at her, whimpering under professorial lips. Minerva chuckled at their longing, but read her Bella's hesitations well. To Narcissa she instructed._

_"Behind her then, mo grá. She'll allow that." _

_And Bella did, somewhat amused and flummoxed by them both. Especially as Cissa blushed at emeralds and shifted. The novice climbed blanket terrain, placing herself behind Bella. Cissy's hands held her, in a manner that managed to be both protective and submissive. Beginner hands roved hips, lips brushing neck. Chuckling, Bellatrix allowed it, her hands covering Cissa's, reminding who was in charge. Eyebrow rose at her mentor's orchestration. _

_"Excellent." _

_Minerva was throaty and kneeled before Bella's skirts, hands running up thighs. The witch grazed Cissa's fingertips. Bella's. The blonde went so far as to trail a hand down the professor's elegant neck, flushing as Minerva let out a soft rumble. Apparently, Dream-Narcissa was curious. Sky eyes turned back to stunned purples and allure whispered into Bella's ear._

_"Ever the expression of surprise, sister-mine, but do enjoy the fun. Just remember, in the very end, you're mine." The blonde broke tongue here. "P-please let her, let us keep you safe. If you won't let me yet, let me help as she does." And Cissa trembled lips on her ear, needing. _

_Bella destroyed morality and claimed her witch's mouth, agreeing to this condition. She couldn't let Cissa…not yet. Not like this. Not even in fantasy. Not when they hadn't reconciled fully after the girl's ball. (Courtyard rendezvous still left much unsaid.) Salt coated their faces, unclear whose. For a time the pair was soft and sunned. New sounds singing on air, Minerva's supervision coaxing permission for such. Bellatrix felt the girl loosen bodice laces. A third hand joined, guiding the blonde. Her own fingers woven in gold, claiming. Mouths tangled wonderfully and it became too much. Knowing their limits, Cissa broke the kiss._

_"Professor…" the blonde murmured against Bella, blushing but marking her warnings. Her gratitude. _

_And Bella's mentor tipped chin and caressed the girl's lips fondly, promising castles. Minerva softly kissed the blonde, assuaging fears. Bellatrix gaped, her heart thumping flushed reaction to such scene: Cissa whimpering against those most trusted lips. Minerva purring at such passion._

_"Don't let her go." Brogue rumbled emerald advice for the ages. _

_Bellatrix was muted at the scene, half jealous, half pleased. Satisfied, Cissa tipped Bella's jaw toward her mentor. Teaching fingers tweaked a rose nipple and Bellatrix hitched at the touch, arching. Feeling. The solidity of her Narcissa behind her, supporting. Soft whispers in her ear, encouraging. Safety. Hands on her hips, shy mouth on the back of her neck. Knowing mouth on her lips. Fingers trailed down her body, birthing goosebumps, teasing skin before dipping under skirts. Bellatrix gasped as two of them probed her opening, before sliding into wet heat. She laced her hand in Cissa's. Emerald met violet. Mentor eyes were anchor and fingers began a soft rhythm, filling. She rocked, fingers in hers, fingers in her. Cherry lips found the elegant neck, a pulse point…and lingered there, sucking. The three moved together seamlessly, in motion that was both old and new. But Bellatrix needed. Cissa. And sought out her soul. Lips._

_"Let go. I'm here." Narcissa balanced her, held her solid and together. It was less permission and more so home. _

_Sunlit, heat built steadily inside. Bellatrix watched as emeralds seemed to twinkle. A callused thumb began to strum her clit, an accompaniment to the fingering musicians inside. The arms around held her safe and Bella arched into the touch, into Narcissa. Her thighs began to tremble, an aching frustration. Minerva's kiss bestowed upon her forehead…promising. Protecting. Their foreheads touched and Bella explored Minerva's face with shaking hands, a furious kiss resulting. She heard Cissa's smile, it pressed to her neck. Shining. And she refused to let go of the blonde's hand. Even in dream, she wouldn't want her love jealous. And then, the first barrier broke — breakers crashed down, the beginning of spasms rocking through system. Her body prepared to scale peak._ _And the beginning of high tide drew in. _It transcended into reality (though Cygnus heard it not).

_"M-minerva," Bella's breath whispered, scared of going back. _

_The lilting voice answered back with fingers slick and hot. And safe.  
>"She loves you, Bella. Endure for me…for them all. For your beloved Cissa."<em>

_And the blonde pressed their bodies together, hugging Bellatrix desperately. Speaking plainly. Honestly.  
>"When the time is right, I'm utterly yours. But for now, let go."<em>

* * *

><p>With that, the scene abruptly faded. And with it the summer blanket. Bellatrix found herself on winter desk once again, neither in Minerva nor Cissa's gentle arms…but in her harsh father's. She tried not to think of the fiend before her as he grunted, eyes screwed up in his own perverted pleasure. She howled at the injustice, but her body had already begun. She held to Cissa's words, Minerva's guidance. The tide came in, crashing. Her eyes fluttered shut, ceruleans greeting her there, flashing with each curling wave. For a long oceanic moment, Bella forgot everything. A last grasp of startling clarity; it shone with a half-smile and a thousand golden suns, running like love on the moors. Bella trembled in found ecstasy and the image-personified hissed off her tongue. Prayer for the ages.<p>

"C-Cisssa…" She held onto the moment, knowing she'd need it.

Ocean tones abruptly dimmed as she felt him harden within. Absorbed in his own pleasure, he had not heard either whisper. Bellatrix felt the horror of his seed as it shot into her. He thrust, fapping last bits. And then with a laugh he pulled out and knocked her to the floor. She winced as rug-burned knees collided and strongly objected. Cygnus gripped her hair and glowered from above, implying. Abolishing thought, Bellatrix opened her mouth and took him in, licked him clean. Mechanically. He pulled away…and delivered a striking blow: his foot to her chest. She heard the snap of at least one rib. Over, she lay on the floor in a shaking heap, curled into herself. Exhausted. The ugly taste of him in her mouth, the lovely of Cissa in her head.

"Remember, Bellatrix. You still owe me the one." He relished, having the last word.

In her abused ribcage, the Vow fluttered acknowledgement, much like a caged and songless bird. Fabric rustled. Robes fastened and sounded. And then the **CRACK** of apparition. A swollen eye opened. He was gone. It was done. Before she passed out and succumbed to the grey in her vision, the thought sounded:

_'They're safe, Min. Safe. Andy. Cissa…Cis—'_

Her mind blacked.

* * *

><p>The flashback ended. And Bellatrix found herself still upon the windowsill.<p>

_[Minerva was allowed a breath of thought. Not much. Too much to process, too much hurt. She relieved as consciousness melded and individuality left her again.]_

For at least a candlemark, Bellatrix had remained a bloodied heap, unconscious and floored in her father's study. In retrospect, perhaps it had been ill advised to block off the bond from Cissy. But she couldn't bear letting the girl _feel _what she had. What she _did_. Unable to stand, with her last vestige of energy Bella had apparated directly from the floor. In her weakened state she had missed her destination by several meters, landing near the window instead of atop the bed. It was credit to her prowess as witch that she had not splinched. Limbs had yowled protest as she hoisted herself onto the upholstered sill, sweat beading in painful exertion.

But at last she had managed.

Here Bellatrix had remained propped for several hours, blank, as her mind hid. At some point it had returned to her, worn but able. No longer able to escape consciousness, accidental magic had called a book from the bookshelf; it had fallen to her lap as offering. She had attempted to read, until a few minutes ago, when she made book a projectile and flung it across the room furiously. She cried silence at the sunset. Now. Bella didn't know what to do with now. An inclement numbness fell over her. Practicality won out and pointed wand at her damaged core.

"_Reparo inviscero._" She muttered, hoarse and harried. The witch shivered as torn tissue knit back together, deep within. The spell however, didn't fix the profound hurt inside.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note II:<strong> R & R. Cissa's débutante ball _–_ flashback is on the horizon. Chapter after next.

**Translation:**  
>- <em>Carte blanche <em>(French) – Literally, "blank cheque." Full discretionary power.  
>- <em>Mo grá <em>(Gaelic) – My love, in a generic sense.

(Credits: _Fun._ – Some Nights, _Hocus Pocus_, _J.K. Rowling_ - _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ [Albus Dumbledore quote re: Bellatrix – pg. 683], _Les Misérables_ – Master of the House)


	14. Dec 31, 1968 II: Endings and Episkeys

**Author's Note I:** _imperfectionisunderrated_ may tear her hair out, but I completed another revamp of MWR in its entirely. Feel free to peruse the initial story disclaimer for more details, or reread if you're feeling bold. No major changes, dears, so don't fret. Just re-aged our leading ladies. To orient you, the year is 1968. Bella is 20, Andy 19, and Cissa a day shy of 18. Many thanks to _beforeyouspeak _(you're still a special snowflake).

* * *

><p><em>[Still whirling from the last memory and her feeling of participation, Minerva was glad to find herself smashed into a mental box once again, unable to do anything but observe.] <em>

Under the dinner table, Narcissa kicked Andy in the shins with a visceral thwack. Fast-footed, Andromeda managed to cover the exchange. Which is why during the appetizer course Druella eyed her middle child oddly, as Meda was undertaken by a vigorous coughing spell. But Madame Black disregarded this fit as fast as she had regarded it. Andromeda was a curious child after all, the white oddball of the family. Incensed, Andy shot daggers at her little sister, muttering so softly under breath that it could have been air current.

"Oi! What's gotten into you Cissy…are you _trying_ to galvanize Cycnus and Medusa?"

Greek mythology lent monster names to their makers. Cycnus, the murderous son of Ares, who aspired to build temples out of the bones of travelers. And Narcissa agreed — her mother's updo unfortunately resemble a snaked-haired gorgon. The blonde frowned and whispered one word to Andy, speaking all.

"Bella." It slipped over the curve of spoon, nearly swallowed as forlorn soup.

Stroke on the back of Narcissa's hand spoke volumes about Andy's thoughts; it told simultaneous angst and reassurance. But this did nothing to calm the blood in Cissa's veins, which had been jumping sharp jacks for hours, though oddly muted and camouflaged. (This was a road sign for danger. She knew Bellatrix had tendency to…protect.) The witch recalled it had started that particular hour after the breakfast summons. Sisters absent and left alone to her dire devices, Cissa'd feared her intestines might regurgitate and strangle her tongue. Queasy feeling had coursed her, blood piping as if unnaturally tempered. Andromeda had returned not long after, had passed by Cissa's door, lingering for a moment silent and alone, Bella's absence speaking loudly. And the queasy had only bloomed. Shortly after, family obligation had ruined Narcissa's chance to investigate the blood activation. Druella had required them to do something important or ridiculous, depending on your vantage point (apparently charm lessons rated high in Druella's mind). Upon careful inquiry, Papa had propitiated his wife with a vague excuse for Bella's truancy. Maman had then occupied them with meaningless drivel for a ridiculous chunk of the waking day.

Currently, salad under her fork lost appeal.

"Papa, I'm feeling rather faint. Might I retire for the evening?" In a calculated move, Narcissa crafted.

From his place at head of the table, Cygnus considered several things. The foremost of which was not his youngest's health, but rather that he'd reared at least one polite pureblood daughter. The second of which, was that she'd make a far better hostess than his wife. He'd utilize her charming talents at the next Manor Noir social. And then finally, he took in the content of Narcissa's words. She _did_ look rather pale. (That part at least was no ploy; worry had taken toll on her pallor.)

"Dismissed, _ma fleur_." Nonchalance coated his hand. But perhaps there was some amount of fondness there for the family flower.

Druella scowled. But Narcissa laid thick the charm.

"Thank you, Papa. Maman." She inclined, complete with demure smile and nod. But as soon as eyes diverted elsewhere, her mouth dropped like stone in river.

Only Andromeda was privy to the splash. At such pandering antics, the witch would have normally rolled eyes. But tonight Andy knew they both spun desire to seek Bella — it was imperative that one of them succeed. Years ago, the obvious choice would have been Meda. But these days Narcissa was far more equipped and invested. Playing her role effortlessly, she ascended from chair, making sure to put on a delicate show of gripping the table for support. Outwardly, Andromeda offered seriously:

"_Do_ rest up, Cissy. We can't have a sister under the weather now, can we?" But the underlying message was clear as singing lark.

Cissa nodded, blues tipping her own hat trick. Andromeda swung back to silence, reassured their little sister would prevail in mission. But Andy's thoughts beat at her, wondering when had it become Cissy's job to clean up Bella's messes and ires. The hurts. She supposed the paradigm shift had happened last November, when downfall had already begun (a week after the bathroom incident of 1967). Accidentally, Bellatrix had come across Andromeda mid-kiss with one Fabian Prewett, a Ravenclaw chaser in Bella's year. That day, Bella severed the last crooked lingers of romantic and skewed physical ties.

* * *

><p><em>Late November 1967.<em>

_He was her partner on a charms assignment (Andy's talent had advanced her a year). Prewett had brought an element to Meda's life she hadn't known was lacking until making his acquaintance: laughter. Months of classwork and idle hours of collaboration had culminated in a gentle kiss, in what she assumed was an abandoned corridor. One moment Meda had been eyeing the carrot hair that swept obnoxiously in front of grass eyes. And the next he had her mouth in a soft kiss. Bellatrix found them like that. Andromeda pulled away from stolen romance to find unreadable violet eyes. Fabian's widened, knowing Bella's reputation. He mumbled something about catching Andy later and hightailed out of the emptied hallway, leaving Black sisters alone with the echoes of dimming footsteps. They stood with several feet (and Cissa's absence) between them. The witch approached, impassively stalking. Wordlessly, Andromeda backed against the stone wall, their torsos nearly brushing. Bella was herself._

_"Failed to mention this tidbit, did we? Truly, Andy, a pureblood traitor and Gryffindor at that?" Sarcasm harangued. "Stellar choice if you're wanding for stupidity." They'd never been exclusive. But this time, a difference was felt. _

_The time was at hand. _

_Bella was seemingly normal, haughty and cruel. But demeanor screamed possession and iron ire…a brilliant hurt to Andromeda. The latter of which was a rarity for Bella to show; so infrequent, that most considered her incapable of such emotion. Andy's eyes fell to cascading curls and seductive lips. And for slight seconds wondered why she considered the Prewett boy at all. Why she'd laid and lied with omission. Thought balanced though, as she remembered laughter. Faint echoes from other hallways sounded their ears. And Andromeda didn't have words for her sister…or hateful lover, both being Bella. Their position here out in the open of Hogwarts was dangerous, but then what in their lives wasn't._

_Andy expected anger, disgust even. But she hadn't anticipated the softness, the vulnerability. Uncharacteristically, Bella leaned in, pressing herself to Meda, head buried in the witch's neck. (Andromeda was quite taken aback, holding this marvelous creature in her arms.) In a forgotten pattern, ancient with rings, Meda's hands tangled in the unruly mass (foliage so different from her tailored waves). Not unkindly, Bellatrix's lips caressed a defined clavicle, the dip of a pulse point. Andy shuddered, confused and blissful. Bella's hands wandered across contours, steadily memorizing. Un bisou placed on jaw line. Temple. Lips. Andy should have known from the last staggering kiss. It was possibly the most tender exchange Bella had paid. Later that eve, Andy would recognize it as a lover's goodbye. But at the time, Andromeda only felt the tremble as Bellatrix pulled away, their lips still grazing as hallows whispered._

_"Are you happy, Meda? There ought not be peace holding, not here, not…" Bella gestured between, hands showcasing their loom still intact, though frayed._

_Currently, their corridor was convenient, though their house would always be mobile. Home still breathed between sisters; the commonalities of birth and station, lilies and ravines. Wheels spun without traction and Andromeda reeled as Bella trailed off. It seemed the Serpent Queen was willing to put aside the boy's blood traitor status and inferior house loyalty, so long as Andy was happy. _

_"You're part of me..." Meda tried, hand clasping theirs over her chest. _

_Still, Bella sensed the ineluctable. And sure as equinox, it came._

_"…but he makes me laugh." The honey in Andromeda's eyes shifted strangely, hiding secrets from the woman herself. Truly, the boy was inconsequential. The topic was not. _

_The Bella witch listened closely and strained for the Veritas beat. Beat. Beat. Faint, but sister heart sounded in Bella's veins. She knew Andy was unaware of this hidden heart, its undeclared speech speaking secret bangs. It tapped tacit mantras, a subconscious that she mined. The mantra fluttered, wordless and doubting…rotting bond ore. These seeds were sown and soiled, roots already holding fast to sinews of reservation. This repeated, a looping continuity. Bellatrix wondered how long the growth had been shoved here, repressed in waiting. Restless. A questioning tone followed each heart pump. Bella oscillated for an agonizing moment, realizing what she already knew: Andromeda would always question, would always fight their bond. Even if she chose Bellatrix (chose Cissy), it would be out of duty and chains. And Bellatrix wouldn't allow Andy to destroy herself with what-ifs, not even for the likes of Bella. A decision had to be made. And right or wrong, Bellatrix made it for the both of them. For all of them. She cupped Andy's face, kissing skin below an elegant ear. Whisper followed, cleaving her beloved sister from chains on their rocky sea. It seemed legends came true after all, though Perseus she was not. _

_"You never looked for our laughter, sister, only the caves. Had you, you might have found wonders." Despite misgivings, Bella let the bond morph naturally, no longing willing it to make home in their middle, as she had these past and dragging years. She'd let leaves fall in wood. And would…handle Cissa's distress when it came. "But I have loved you, Meda-mine. As has she." The last sentence whispered a bond that would never fully build. In time Cissa would have loved Andy, much as Bella had. _

_Andromeda had no time to respond before the cold hallway air took Bella's place. Fingers grazed for a last moment before Bellatrix walked away. Meda had notion of calling out to her. Perhaps if she had, things would have turned out differently. But as it was, Andy didn't. Still, before rounding the corner, Bella turned. Andromeda saw that violets had dimmed to murky grey, a color she'd not seen there before. _

_"Be happy, be normal, Meda." Bellatrix nodded. "One of us should." Eyes flashed warning. "Just don't punish the sun for your storms." _

_Bellatrix swam past the breakers, leaving Andy to her thoughts, cold as the stone wall the woman sunk against. Black skirts were the last Andromeda saw of her sister that night. That week. And the next. Bella's skill in avoidance was finely tuned. And when the witch finally saw fit and allowed her sister regard once more, Andy found that everything had changed. Or rather surfaced. A wall had grown so thick between them, that she couldn't even penetrate the moat. Nor Bella's guarding sentries for eyes. _

_It was then Andy realized the magnitude of what she'd done. _

* * *

><p><em>Present. Dec 31, 1968. <em>

Andromeda still lost to her thoughts.

After the corridor, the growing bond between Narcissa and Bellatrix had only strengthened. It had always been there, dressed in simmer and subtle. Over the past few years, their youngest sister had grown from a tag-a-long pain, to a woman quite worthy of the Black name. _And then Cissa's débutante ball had painted them all red_. And played observer as a gleam most familiar had entered Bellatrix's eye. Cissa's too. She knew it was only a matter of time now, even if Bella had mostly refrained thus so far. And she suspected Bellatrix had already refrained for a long long time. Narcissa was not like Andromeda. Whereas Andy had gone along to pacify her vacillating heart and to relieve her sister's psychotic lust, Narcissa was rather active in pursuit of Bella. She always had been.

Meda had attempted to commit no sin, but still, small inklings of jealousy sparked. Bellatrix knew her plight. Wandering eyes still found Andy's when distance and anger felt greatest. But no longer did they wander under her clothes or in the limbo of the night. Nor did they whisper secrets or offer solace. They never spoke directly about the riff. Knowingly, those dark eyes only gazed Meda's way, reminding that their estrangement truly was Andy's desire. And though mutually agreed for the best, still Andromeda missed their _liaisons_. She didn't know how else to exist around Bella. But it wasn't nearly enough to justify reversion. Not for the thin sake of familiarity. Not when Cissa so clearly_ loved_ the woman. And such ardor was returned, despite their ridiculous game of denial. (Andy was well aware of this too.) And that damn dress. Despite the family fuckery, she had to heartily chuckle at _that _gesture. Bella's actions spoke better than her mouth at times. Most times.

Andy left the past and assisted Narcissa as present. Their charade still active, she paid the 'rents and answered some menial question, playing the good diverter. Cissa folded her napkin and pushed in the chair, shaking hands masquerading as domesticity. Calmly Meda sipped her mead instead of murdering her parents. Her eyes followed the fairest sister as she left the room. Despite her odd estrangement from Bellatrix, it was unspoken that both would protect their youngest at all costs. Fleetingly, Andy thought of eyes clear as the ravine stream. And what music Cissa would moan, if her hands traipsed through sun-spun hair. It was then Andromeda realized, that more than an iota of Blackblood ran through her veins after all. She twirled her fork and balanced it on the point of pleasure and disgust.

* * *

><p>Cissa made away from the dining room toward the grand staircase. Her dining dress grazed the wide steps and she began her long ascent up the twisting stairwell. Powder blue on white was too innocent a complement for her tasking heart. She lifted her Victorian-styled skirt with one hand, the other grasped the smooth railing. She appreciated both textures, silk and polished wood. Cissa searched for her sister the old fashioned way, not that she minded (only Cygnus could apparate within the wards). The young witch wasn't a lazy thing, not like her mother who relied on Mobi for the smallest of household movements. Deeming the library a good first venture, Cissa veered left at the stair split on the fifth floor. Library Noir seemed endless. To Bellatrix, she knew, it was an esoteric escape filled with knowledge. Thoughts drifted as she climbed. Narcissa thought herself a self-made chameleon. Her father seemed to hold her in some small amount of esteem, but she was well aware that this was only due to her skill at embodying wallpaper (that is her ability to change colors and textures at will). Bella might be able to morph her appearance, but it was Cissa who could morph presentation, a best actor in her own life. Over the years she had allowed the shaping, much to her disgust. But by Slytherin, did she see the advantage. Andy had genuineness for strength, Bella ambition. Hers was apparently subterfuge. This skill embedded deeply into her daily life, so much so that Narcissa no longer knew her original color.<p>

_'Black,'_ she thought bitterly. _'Of course I'm Black, even if I was once fawn or amber. Perhaps cerulean.'_ (Years later, a particularly odd conversation with the Lovegood girl would prove surreal and affirming). Cissy's thoughts turned over to Bellatrix. Unlike herself, the willful sister was not malleable. Bella refused to change for anyone, even if it meant destruction. It was an anti-survival mechanism and yet Bellatrix was the best survivor of them all. Destination reached, Cissa's footsteps echoed in the room of books. Searching, eyes canvased stacks and heart leap outward. Neither sight nor blood found answer here; Bella was elsewhere. Golden curls flew out behind her as she swiftly made back toward the hallway. There she stopped for a moment, analyzing her options.

_'The attic? No, that's her storm place.'_ Bellatrix could be always be found attic-bound during bellowing storms. She'd brood by the window, curls blending into sweeping gales. She often haunted there after an angry exchange with sisters, but in a way, these were storms too. Today was not a storm.

_'The river, then, perhaps.' _This was a better possibility. But somehow, inkling in gut told Cissa that Bella remained housebound — dark was coming. And while Bellatrix wasn't one to be wary of moontime, she wasn't one to incur unnecessary wrath from Druella unless there was fun to be had (that she saved for Cygnus). Heated capillaries agreed and veins sang suddenly, just a blip before cutting off. But Cissa knew. Back to the staircase she ventured and climbed hurriedly. Flight. Flight. Flight. Another flight. She lost count and tripped on her skirts more than once, dressing her trek with impromptu blaspheme. The witch quite believed Bellatrix would have applauded this. Out of breath Cissa finally arrived at the small landing of an elaborate hallway. Why Bellatrix had chosen this lofty story as her bedroom suite, Narcissa wasn't positive. But she had the certain idea that it had to do with its inconvenience. She snorted. How like her sister. Fingers trailed hall wall in vertical waves, painting ocean dreams on wooden seams. She could feel Bella in the structure, some rooms felt more infused. At the very end of the passage laid the door to Bellatrix's bedchambers. Her hand poised to turn the doorknob but held in air, knowing it would be locked. Mind changed, she struck the door with knock. Silence from , she tried. Nothing. Narcissa frowned when no answer came. She stroked the door, forehead pressed to wood paneling.

"Belle, it's Cissy." As if this redundancy was needed. No one else would have dared disturb.

Perhaps she'd been wrong; she'd try the river after all. The witch started to turn back, only to double-over in pain, the wall keeping her sane. Bloodgift wracked Narcissa with sharp agony, burning sensation squeezed out her eyes. Her soul abhorred, realizing this miserable affliction was that of her sister. Bella was most assuredly behind that door. Terrified of what she might find, shaking hand approached the doorknob again. It turned. This didn't reassure Narcissa, as it wasn't like the shrewd witch to leave things unlocked.

_And I think back to when, my sister and my sister slept  
>In an unlocked place, never a time I felt safe<em>

She opened the door and tensed at the horror within. Upon the windowsill her sister was huddled in tatters. Bloodied, bruised, beaten.

"Oh B-bellatrix." Narcissa's whisper broke the stale room.

Bellatrix turned to her then and Cissa let out anguished cry, seeing the handprint branded onto the woman's face. It didn't matter how many times the sisters had found Bella in a similar state, the outrage never receded; each time was as atrocious as the last. Repetition did nothing to ease the low tide torment.

"Cissa." Bella spoke in a low rasp.

* * *

><p>The instant Cissa's trek touched the staircase, Bellatrix had resigned herself to the witch's involvement. The blonde was annoyingly persistent, protective in her own winter bloom ways. She pained at the woman's voice, wanting it both beside and far away. But she'd slipped and let blood out. The door opened. Bellatrix regretted that there would be no hiding her state. She never could from her sisters. So Bella's mind snapped to attention and enjoyed finding new focus. It was sick of wallowing in its own bloodied and beaten quarry. She softened at her sister's stutter. And then angered. Her father was the reason Cissa's suns had extinguished, one at a time. At her sister's horrified face, Bellatrix knew another had just darkened for good.<p>

"Cissa." Bella spoke in a low rasp, knowing the consequences.

Her name and the blonde flew across the room, knees before Bella. A silent grimace, but Bellatrix maneuvered her aching body to sit over the ledge, facing her anxious sister. Narcissa's tentative hands reached out. Afraid to touch Bella's already warred body, she instead traced the surrounding air in undecided jerks. Bellatrix watched silently as heavy tears weighted down Cissa's lids, flooding oceans.

"It's alright to touch me, darling. If roughness didn't break me, I doubt your gentleness will."

The tears turned steady and a soft sob shortened Cissa's breath. Finding it increasingly difficult to breathe, she began to hyperventilate. Concerned, Bellatrix's hand magically loosened Narcissa's bodice. Lungs immediately took advantage and began to breath normally. Bellatrix ignored the pain of her fast movements and took Cissa's face in hand, soothing the lass with caressing thumbs. It'd been a long time since such an attack had afflicted her sister, not since childhood. Bella wasn't quite sure why it had surfaced now. But then again, such things weren't clockwork.

"Breathe, Cissa. Breathe."

Eventually, she did. When blue eyes finally turned to calmer seas, and lungs were less erratic, Narcissa found her voice again, inchoate as it was.

"B— Again? What hap— no, why?"

Bellatrix regarded her sister's wide eyes. Suns.

"Business, Cissa, and let's leave it at that."

"_Business_." But sun hissed hot and orange. "You call this business? Both you and Andy treat me as if I'm invalid. I demandyou tell me." Formidable Narcissa stood flaming and towered over the sitting Bellatrix. Pissed off, but Cissa took the opportunity to mutter, "_Scourgify_. _Reparo,_" and watched as her sister's general appearance became less tattered.

Bella's dress mended and much of the dried blood vanished. Narcissa, however, did not notice the dried blood as it disappeared from Bella's thighs. Taken aback, though far from intimidated, Bellatrix regarded the volatile star with careful eyes. Teenage petulance had traded for a quiet gravity in the past months. The girl no longer was child, that much was clear. Her body most certainly wasn't, slim and slender with elegant curves. Solar hair framed a classic face, one less angled than her sisters' but sharp enough to hold authority. A few years had made all the difference. Before, Meda had held Bella's lusting affections, but time had proved both illuminating and somewhat unrequited; Andy had grown lighter and Bella darker. Narcissa had become her counterpart in this life, while Andromeda had developed an uppity lightness that Bellatrix could not begin to touch. Did not want to touch. It was Cissa's capacity for light and grey that woke an innocent part of Bellatrix, one she thought long lost to the wolves. Only in front of Narcissa (and occasionally Minerva) did she dare show vulnerability. The witch faltered and dipped her head, face shutting out the world. A caring hand caressed the bruised cheek, running thumb over the clotting laceration. Bellatrix sank into her sister's caress, enjoying the feel of a hand upon her not in strike. Her subconscious chuckled, bookmarking, knowing she'd enjoy that from her sister as well.

"_Episkey_." Cissa whispered, phoenix tears dripping. The cut healed and bruising faded to a faint yellow. "You both think me naïve. Perhaps I've played my part too well over the years."

At this, Bella's eyes glinted in answer. The Slytherin continued, a soft numbness.

"If you think I don't know what goes on in this house, Bella, then the both of you are barmy. I know the monster that dwells here. Perhaps not as well as you, but I know him. Tell me, what did Papa do?"

"He took my advice." Bellatrix picked the short truth and sighed. "Regarding the Malfoy boy."

Narcissa's hand fell away in utter surprise. "As in…"

"Officially betrothed, _grâce à moi_. My bloody congratulations to you and the blighter. You can thank me when you're done flitting." Bella brogued, finding her mentor's accent lent well to sardonic nature.

Taken aback, emotion played Cissa's face and Bellatrix was a most rapturous audience. It pleased Bella that she was the only one privy to ice melt. The first expression was confusion (this lead to incredulity). A small happiness then broke upon cheeks. Malfoy was kind, loved her in his own birdy way. But this fleeting thought of affection (and there was a small fondness there) gave way to a paralyzing wave of melancholy. Bellatrix kept her silence, letting the witch consider. This match would mean many things. Marriage had always been expected of the Black sisters, but the idea of leaving Bellatrix shredded her heart. She quickly worked the angles, seeking corners, and paused on crux. Narcissa realized crafty Bella had orchestrated the match to their benefit: Lucius in particular would do most anything for Cissa and wouldn't protest her close relationship with Bellatrix (not that he would know the actual truth or rather the anticipated one). But a nagging feeling weighted on Narcissa. _'Too easy.' _Many a person had fallen to stereotype and made the mistake of underestimating the blonde's intelligence. Apparently blue eyes and yellow hair led to nasty assumptions. But like her sisters, Narcissa possessed a cool intellect.

* * *

><p><em>Each sister was a different fold of cloth. Bellatrix excelled wildly in academia, particularly in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Arithmancy. She trained separately with Dumbledore thrice a year in the art of Occlumency. (As the on-duty faculty, he'd accidentally discovered her talent on the one occasion she was caught out of bed after hours, by Pringle before he retired.) As you can imagine, Bella learned expeditiously, not keen on disclosing family secrets. Additionally, she had a rare talent for Transfiguration, which McGonagall saw fit to nourish. Her acquired skills of manipulation and debate only added to her reputation as a witch not to cross in combat. But more so, it was her blatant nature that was quintessential to her person. She was always true north, no matter costs. In her own right, Andromeda was also a formidable witch, but her name brought about more tender connotations. She was very adept at Charms, Herbology, and Astronomy. But more notably, she understood people and what drove them. (Narcissa would later learn that muggles had a word for this). Furthermore, in ways elusive to her sisters, Andromeda was socially skilled. While Narcissa might have perfected her Queen Bee status, Andy was simply well liked. And as such, she fostered a circle beyond blood, much to her sisters' bemusement. <em>

_As for Narcissa herself, much like Bellatrix, she too was a decent Occlumens. Bella tutored her (if Dumbledore knew, he merely twinkled his obliviousness). However, unlike her sisters, Cissa preferred the slower magic of Potions and was well known for her flawless draughts. Perhaps if Professor Slughorn weren't so adverse to her eldest sister, she'd have been apprenticed to him. Despite Bella's teasing, she adored Care of Magical Creatures. And most prominently, she also had developed a well-versed arsenal of healing skills over the years. This, in combination with her talent for potion making, was enough to interest Madam Pomfrey. But Cissa's greatest talent wasn't magical; it was her quick understanding of all situations. Her years of quiet observance had led to a dissecting mind; lies didn't fool, politics couldn't hide truth from her. She made an excellent spy and socialite. _

* * *

><p>Presently, her nagging feeling morphed. Face muscles tightened as she gazed at Bella and those nighting eyes that avoided the day (all in the name of protection). Her hand found Bella's cheek again and trembled, as terrible understanding washed over. She knew in the House of Black, no good deed came without price or punishment. Unable to sidestep the probing sky, blackened eyes rose. Suns clouded over, begging for falsity. But onyx orbs did no such thing, they simply remained, steady and intense. Bellatrix was one to omit, but not to sugarcoat. Cissa spoke her mind.<p>

"You promised me this morning that I had _nothing_ to fear! Bellatrix, what did you trade for this, what did you do?!" Narcissa feared now.

"I placated as necessary. And nothing I haven't done before."

Frustrated, the blonde snapped back, "Bella, quit your games, that's not a proper answer, this is serious!"

"And you think I don't know that?" Bellatrix was dangerously flat in tone. "Mind your mouth, little sister. Suffice it to say that we exchanged a set of terms, Cissa. Leave it be."

"I'm not your inferior, Bellatrix." Cissa sneered. "So, no. I won't." She battled on.

Bellatrix groaned aloud. A half smirk, half snarl graced her face. Persistent thing her sister was. Amidst their argument, the blonde evaluated which of the witch's injuries could be easily healed. Her arms were a mess; Cissa didn't want to know what method had bruised wrists nearly blue. There were odd cuts on Bella's neck and many that dipped down her décolletage, red and gouging. Skinned kneecaps. Several broken toes caught the eye. Those would go first. The cuts were nasty but superficial and could wait.

"_Episkey_." The wand wanded furiously and flung about as prop for emphasis. "A set of terms, my arse. And by _that_, you mean you bartered." The blonde was unimpressed. "For heaven's sake Bella, your life isn't a blasted poker game. What on earth did you _give_ him?!"

"If it were, do you think I'd take the pot?" Cheek took the cake and Bella was quite proud of the frosting.

The witch didn't deign to respond seriously, only glared and ignored. "_Episkey, Episkey, Episkey_."

Narcissa muttered angrily and satisfied some as Bellatrix winced — the sensation of resetting bones shot straight to her stomach. And it unsettled, to watch the skin on her knees regenerate. Cissa's verbal attack continued, half a conversation with herself.

"No. I think you'd smoke the damned pot." She took up her wand once more. "Let it rest. Idiotic," the blonde scoffed, mocking. "No, Bella. The last time I agreed to let it rest, you nearly died and exsanguinated! All for lack of a Blood-Replenishing Potion, because we didn't know. In fact…" Her wand tip glowed blue, signaling a diagnostic spell. Cissa was most pleased when it didn't turn red.

"I'm pretty sure I'd have to exsanguinate _before_ dying," Bellatrix snapped wryly, nearing the end of her grace and courtesy latitude. "But are you _satisfied_,Madam Cissa?" Her tone mocked.

Narcissa glowered, casting several more diagnostic spells over her sister. Under breath, Bella swore the girl mumbled, "_Not since the day I met you."_ Eyebrows rose high at this and mouth opened, fully prepared to probe Cissa on that particular statement. But then wand turned red during one of the many diagnostic spells. Narcissa froze, as spell indicated that Bella's magical core was…_altered_. The icy woman reared her future head. Usually unruffled by the coldest of things, even Bellatrix was unnerved at the frost in Cissa's voice. The blonde paced, a deadly arrow poised.

"I'll ask once again, Bella." The hiss was a low façade and dangerously innocuous. "What did you _give_ him? Her bow to Bella's ear strung bow.

As children, Andy and Cissa learned of Bella's lack of self-regard in lieu of her sisters' well being. The first time it occurred (or that one of them could remember) it had been small, but still the world to an eight-year-old. Papa had given rational Bellatrix a choice: the rare book for her or toy broomsticks for her baby sisters…who so desperately wanted. Cygnus had enjoyed watching the tearful child deny herself for their happiness. As they grew, so did the sacrifices. Cissa and Andy attempted to circumvent this tendency of Bella's, but often to no avail. Her secrecy played enemy to their efforts and the exchanges grew more substantial and self-detrimental. History didn't augur well and Narcissa was apprehensive.

"But more importantly, _how_ did you sign the agreement? Your magical core has been compromised, changed." The mind suspected terrible things, but Cissy cut herself off. Wild postulations would do no good. Especially when the reality was beyond her craziest imaginings. In the end, it was Bella who shot the shaft.

"I'm not surprised. Unbreakable Vows _will_ do that, you know." Sarcasm was always the best delivery, Bellatrix found.

Narcissa had swift urge to knock her sister upside the head; she angered at Bella's impetuousness. Anger. A wand spark illuminated for Cissa and she couldn't help but mentally chuckle. (She had all but forgotten, you see.) Andy had once imparted: _"When dealing with Bellatrix, beware your own anger, even if earned fairly. If through your ire she can manipulate and keep you in safety, she will." _Narcissa stopped her untamed pacing and looked Bella dead in the eye.

"Your ruse won't work on me, deary. Rage and be insufferable, Bellatrix Black, but I'm not leaving." She unnerved with a Bella-esk smirk.

"Funny. I don't see any roos." Bellatrix made a show of looking about. "But you sure hop to mad with glorious color."

"You're an insufferable and awful patient." But Cissa still flushed. "Stuff it and spill."

Bellatrix's eyes pained, realizing her sister wouldn't allow either of them the easy route out. Suns. She feared for the suns. But the blonde had grown impatient. Bella purred as Cissa's magic pulled at her longingly. And Bellatrix realized she had underestimated her sister's dedication in this task. Blood leaped in separate veins, yet met on middle ground. Pleading anguish surrounded and blonde pain cut Bella. Burgundy eyes flashed at the healer.

"Manipulating our bond for this? You're not playing fair, Cissa."

The blond was quiet for a turn. She upped the ante and linked their hands — the physical contact was catalyst. They both sounded: Narcissa in whimper, Bella with hitched breath. The lustier connotations of their bond lit flesh and traveled to cores.

"All's fair in love and war. I believe someone said that o-once."

Cissa's voice shook and she rolled her head in a circle, settling into their bonded bloodlust. Blues pierced ink. She had her. They had each other. Cissa knew the bend would come now, after this affirmation of sorts.

"Tell me what you promised him. What did you give him?" Despite the pleasure, Cissa pushed forward. Even as Bella's hands caressed her waist.

Quietly, with flatness in her voice, Bellatrix spoke the last truth.

"_Myself_, Cissy, what else could I give him?"

At the hated words, Narcissa's legs failed as she decomposed, her gown billowing as she collapsed like downed sails. Hissing, Bellatrix caught the chit (ignoring smarting ribs) and maneuvered the witch beside her on the bay window seat. The blonde fell into her body, seeking refuge in curves and curls. For all her bark, Cissa was still the youngest for Bellatrix, the porcelain heart that cried when no one watched. Their bond trembled agony, as injury was cyclic: Cissa in pain for Bella, Bellatrix paining for her sister…and on and on. Mental screams deafened the pair and Bellatrix cupped the girl's ears in useless reflex. She held the witch, rocking, as Narcissa spouted unintelligible sounds, clinging to disbelief and clutching wildly at black skirts. Bella's mouth pressed to forehead and caressed sunrays. No longer capsized, Narcissa's distress eventually quieted into despondency, but the two still clung to each other on the windowsill. Horror illuminated — the odd wounds upon Bella's exposed skin (the ones Cissa had assumed cuts), she now knew them to be bite marks. Buried in Bella's neck, another long round of "_Episkey-s_" fell out her mouth. And though muffled in the embrace, they did their job. Tucked firmly under the Bella's chin, Narcissa finally spoke. Her tone was cold. Detached. Necessary.

"He ra—"

"Yes." In numbed states, her sister dealt best with straight facts.

"And you let him. Vowed. For me."

"Yes." Bellatrix decided the revelation of the Dark Lord and the third deed could wait for now. However, the trembling blonde in her arms could not.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note II: <strong>R & R, my dearies. _"Cissa's débutante ball had painted them all red."_ – At long last, this chapter is next in our saga. Stay tuned.

**Translation:**  
>- <em>Grâce à moi <em>- Thanks to me.  
>- <em>Ma fleur <em>(French) - My flower.  
><em>- Un bisou <em>(French) - A familiar and playful kiss between lovers and friends, often in farewell.

(Credits: _Ellie Goulding_ – Lights, Love & War Quote – attributed to _John Lyly's_ "Euphues: The Anatomy of Wit" and _Francis Edward Smedley's_ "Frank Fairleigh.")


	15. Dec 22, 1967: A Débutante Interlude

**Author's Note I:** This chapter takes place prior to the 1968 events in the Hogwarts courtyard, but after the Prewett kissing incident of 1967. Andy and Bella's relationship has been estranged for about a month. This memory helps explain Narcissa's agitation in the courtyard — she had expectations you see. It also puts Bella's conversation with Rosier in context. Takes place during Winter break 1967: Bella's 5th, Andy's 4th, and Narcissa's 3rd year at Hogwarts. Bella is 18 (almost 19), Andy 18, Cissa 16 (almost 17).

* * *

><p><em>Dec 22, 1967. Winter Solstice.<em>

_[From her omnipresent space-time throne, the professor shifted to another scene, the previous one now paused. Minerva was thrown for a loop, as the memories juggled like muggle television screens, the worst of circuses. Many notions roamed grey matter of mind and emotion could not be pinpointed. As it was, she didn't want to examine her feelings too closely, not when it came to the incestuous House of Black. A pretzel she had become, intertwined therein. Images flickered into focus and there was nothing left to do but watch._

_A green room, a lighthearted occasion. A conservative gown (clearly meant for Narcissa) was displayed upon the mannequin. The so-named sat before the ornate vanity, clad in silk dressing robe and eying the rose garment. Minerva noted she looked less anguished than the memory on pause, though anxiety still plucked loudly upon her face. The professor was fond of the exasperated witch, with brow scrunched tightly, as if approaching a potent potion. Her protégé was another beautiful story. Minerva shut down the dangerous flutters in heart. Poured into evening gown, Bellatrix butterflied the stomach, chancily. Opposite of her sister's wringing hands, Bella appeared the essence of relaxation and had even surrendered her habitually sardonic stance. _

_The professor squinted at the young witches: Bellatrix, a tad less curvy than she recalled and Narcissa, in teenage wasteland. A glance out the window told winter nights. The walls spoke location. She knew that stonework — this memory was mannered noir at Manor Noir. It dawned on Minerva that this was merely a flashback within a flashback. Mentality furrowed and she cursed Bella's inability to relay time in linear fashion: this memory preceded the atrocious rape and events in the school courtyard. They had rewound an entire year, to December 1967. The memory proceeded, as did her consternation.]_

In high-class wizarding society, young ladies traditionally made their debut around the age of seventeen. As it was, Narcissa's birthday fell on January 1st. Rather than wait until summer, eager Druella had been keen hold the cotillion ball in December, claiming it an early birthday present. Cissa wasn't opposed (the cold never bothered her anyway). This December had been miserably frigid. For once, Andy and Bella had been grateful for Druella's penchant for fashionista magic — preemptively, she had woven warming spells into their wardrobe, into the very fabric of their elaborate (and heavy) finery. Even Bellatrix was reluctantly grateful for the added comfort. Manor Noir, though grandiose, chilled to the marrow in the colder months. However, her hair remained uncooperative — the wards trapped magic in the castle walls and static was abundant. Furthermore, unsurprisingly, her Metamorphmagic powers riled and peaked in enemy territory. Tonight, it had taken the force of both Cissa and Andromeda's sticking spells to wrangle it into some semblance of order. Not that she cared, but Bella recognized social capital as power. And apparently hair was currency amongst pureblood daughters. It wouldn't hurt to capitalize.

The manor was aflurry with preparation, servants running amok and polishing silver for the grand affair. Somehow, amidst all chaos, it had ended up just the two of them in the dressing room. Andromeda was off securing the last rational touches of household, before the throng of guests arrived. Madame Black was preoccupied, screaming her face ruddy at cowering house-elves (something about overwrought appetizers). Cygnus milled about pompously, with scotch and cigar, avoiding all the crazed women.

Cissa's grand entrance was scheduled for the last chime of the evening's tenth hour, less then two candlemarks from now. It was left up to Bellatrix then (ridiculously) to make sure her sister was presentable. In Bella's opinion, the witch already vied with Venus, but pureblood society had its odd standards, ones that included sweeping updos and opera gloves. This was why Narcissa stared, panicked, at the thirty-some pairs upon the vanity. Bellatrix dressed blonde hair with deft fingers, occasionally whispering incantations to stick locks in place. A wry smile curved on rouged lips. Of course, the witch _could _have magicked the entire hairstyle, not that Cissy need be aware of this. Besides. It calmed the chit to have her hair touched and it immensely satisfied Bella to oblige. Magic secured another lock into place. Standing, she could see the blonde's terror-stricken expression in the mirror, gazing at the array of gloves.

"Narcissa." She prompted gently.

Startled at name and forgetting herself, Cissa moved suddenly. Bellatrix swore.

"Oi Cissy! Don't you dare move or you'll end up looking like a stupefied bird, I swear it on Maman's grave."

"Are we clear on what dead means?" Cissa sassed, wincing as volatility redid several top sections, irritation lacing the French braids.

"I'm not opposed to planning murder," Bellatrix lightly countered. "Left. And up." She redirected the girl's chin and scowl. "For Salazar's sake, you're not off to your own wilted funeral. Perk up, birdy."

_[Though dark tone lingered, Minerva couldn't help fond amusement at the entire exchange. Her student had maternal threats down to a science. The professor thought Bellatrix would have hexed her into oblivion upon the dreaded knowledge of such thought. (And in a much later decade, a Weasley matriarch would have paled to know that the Head compared their antics.)] _

Ironically mollified, Cissa's face pulled, half serious. "I think these gloves have already perished." Begrudgingly, the blonde poked at a particularly awful set, gagging at the dead princess motif. The panic returned.

They both jumped as accidental magic incinerated the decaying pair. Cissa went wide-eyed at the cinders. Bellatrix did something not heard since childhood and laughed aloud. Not her dark chuckle of sardonicism, not even the precursor to her one-day signature cackles. No. This was a full-on roll, delighted laughter gaily ringing through room. To Narcissa, it was euphony, music coursing the soul. Sadly, she realized, it must be a rare moment when the witch found delight. A warm glow filled her, knowing that this time she had engendered the cause.

"Why, Cindercissa," Bellatrix giggled at the mishap. "Shall we tell them you've been thwarted by gloves?" A wave of hand and the soot vanquished. "Lucky you, Magenta Black won't miss those six feet under."

Embarrassed but enchanted, Narcissa flushed as light teasing filled her sister's voice, instead of the usual sarcasm. Bellatrix abandoned her hair ministrations, in favor of leaning forward, placing hands lightly on Cissa's shoulders. Blonde heart skipped at their dueling reflections, night and day in the mirror. A brilliant smile lit Bella's face and Cissa realized the metaphor did not hold. At the moment, her sister was far from the night, with eyes sparkling and grin flashing. Bellatrix was more a shining star with night at bay around her.

_[Much like Narcissa, the laughing Bellatrix enthralled Professor McGonagall. It was not a found happiness, but rather a lost one. A might-have-been for the protégé. Hatred brewed, that is Minerva's for their parents. She soften as the blonde spoke uncertainties couched in reality, and tried not to realize that Cissa too, cold and art, had crept into her heart.]_

"There's too many to choose from, Bella! It's a ridiculous tradition anyway, wearing the débutante gloves of a relative," she scoffed. "You _know_ that no matter which I choose, someone will be miffed."

Bella's grin only widened. The tradition _was_ ostentatious. For each débutante, a master tailor fashioned a pair of gloves, a unique commission. (Druella liked to boast that hers were designed by Monsieur Abélard Lefevre, the famous French tailor.) On the eve of the ball, the gloves were then presented publicly to the débutante, a token to symbolize her ascent to adulthood.

_'__And apparently,' _Bellatrix thought wryly,_ '…gloves are the epitome of female majority.'_

Ridiculum aside, a woman's cotillion gloves _did_ hold a strange social power; wearing them to a social occasion carried immense compliment to the host, along with other intimate connotations. However, a débutante never wore their commissioned gloves during debut. Instead, female relatives and family friends would loan their own débutante gloves for the occasion, based on trust and rapport. The more gloves offered, the more prestige the débutante commanded. And with Narcissa at twelve loaned pairs (not counting the heirlooms from deceased relatives), she was only shy two from Bella Black's well-known and unbroken record of fourteen. Débutantes of high society both envied and disfavored Bellatrix for this, their feelings further exacerbated by her effortless elicitation of this feat.

"You could do what I did," Bella vaguely offered and returned tasking upon gold.

"As if I remember?" Narcissa's nose wrinkled. "We've had at least a dozen balls, all gloved, since what…two years ago?" She snorted.

The dark woman offered her sister a look.

"You ought remember this _particular_ ball, as you spent the better half with Sirius, chucking grapes at Aunt Walburga."

An amusing second of silence.

"How on _earth_ do you know that?" The blonde blushed profusely, though a hidden smile flickered. Pleased.

* * *

><p><em>Minerva heartily chuckled and regarded the small blonde with perplexed amusement. She'd been aware of the pranks on Andy, but had always assumed Bellatrix was the orchestrator. But from their bickering, it was clear Narcissa possessed the tellings of a deviled and playful nature in her own right. Minerva knew this was something Hogwarts never glimpsed completely…this candor. <em>

_At a particular Sorting feast, before hat festivities, Bellatrix had whispered to the professor, pointing out the newest Black come to Hogwarts. For a moment they'd observed the silent child, very much alone in the crowd of excited students. The girl had appeared subdued, not in emotion, but rather in practiced personality. Minerva wondered if this resulted from her birthed role as wallflower to her sisters. Unable to accurately voice thoughts, the Head had settled upon safe innuendo._

_"__Your sister's rather…light, isn't she?" Professor McGonagall had observed._

_"__A forever setting sun. Make sure she shines in your class." Bella offered these cryptic words before disappearing into the congestion of the Great Hall._

_Minerva had had the distinct notion that Bellatrix spoke beyond academics. As Narcissa's professor, she had been most curious about the girl. True to her initial assessment, Narcissa was nothing brash like her elder sister. Instead, the blonde preferred to remain in the polite quiet, although her enigmatic and closed nature did strike odd familiarity. The Gryffindor saw quiet talent there, blues sparking with joy when magic became knowledge. And when light hit the girl's bone structure just right, she swore that Bellatrix lingered in Cissa's shadows._

* * *

><p>Currently, Narcissa fidgeted, nervous underneath Bella's tasking wand and hand.<p>

"For Satan's sake, Cissy, do hold still! Besides," slyness filled her voice, "…who do you think gave Sirius the grapes, hmm? Surely not the kitchen elves?"

In the mirror, the blonde oscillated between amused and moderately affronted.

"You do know I was grounded for the rest of winter holiday for that stunt."

"Not my fault that your ambush skills needed improving…besides, that party was boring as shit. It needed a Pepperup. And I quite enjoyed Maman's horrified expression when you grape-ified Uncle Rosier during my grand entrance." Bellatrix remarked bluntly, glee heavy on her features.

Narcissa caught between laugh and groan of dismay. Bella smirked, still amused. In concentration, a pink tongue poked out between her lips, as a particularly stubborn lock of hair refused her bidding.

"Though really it's Andy you pissed off, she blames you for the fruit-less _hors d'œuvre_ at her own ball last year. She was stuck with horrible meat pastries."

Narcissa giggled but sobered quickly.

"The gloves, witch. Forget my failed shenanigans…the gloves!"

_[The sisterly banter made Minerva smile. She was glad Bellatrix had managed to afford young Narcissa some semblance of normalcy in House Black. It astonished, the ice Bella was able to thaw in her sister.]_

"Cissy, forget the blasted gloves, they come last anyway. And failed? I think not, dear! Projectile grapes _and_ condemning Andy to meat pies? No no, your antics made that night bearable..."

Perhaps it was Bella's rapidly detaching tone, but Narcissa felt the air grow heavy and still. She couldn't place why. Faintly, a bruised memory stabbed but lacked solidity, but it faded back into mind, misting. Bella's hands took a small hiatus and simply rested in the blonde field. Cissa glanced at the witch's reflection, eyes off in darkened memory. It lifted. And Bella, no longer wanting to wade in demon lands, moved the silence into soft words.

"Gloves, then."

"Gloves," Narcissa agreed, allowing her sister reprieve.

"I based my choice on whom I could piss off more. _Tante_ Dee's gloves pissed off everybody."

Dorea Potter née Black was the oddball sister of their grandfather Pollux Black. Fig-less, she had married into the Potter line. And the Potters, though pureblood, were suspected mud lovers. While they had never been outed for their liberal views, rumors had thrown. And yet oddly, their great-aunt Dorea had a fondness for the sisters — a mutual one, despite politics. Flabbergasted and with a good deal of amusement, Narcissa scolded.

"Bellatrix Belvina Black!" Cissa was prudent and kept her head still this time, not wanting to incur wrath.

"If you're going to whip out the full name arsenal, get it right, ninny. You missed Lucretia." Bella continued to chuckle at Cissa's admonishment. "Why is it that when baby sisters grow up, all they seem to do is chide? Look at you, Ci-Ci, all fetched and scolding."

Narcissa smiled, an indulgent grin at the old sobriquet. She warmed, happy to be acknowledged as such a thing: an adult. Laughter fell to the wayside as their eyes connected in the mirror. The witch flushed at the rise of sunset: violet-softened blacks trained upon blue. Wand flick conjured a chair and Bellatrix sat beside her at the vanity. Motioning for the witch to face her, Cissa shifted her chair accordingly. Bellatrix went about arranging the front of blonde hair, leaving several tendrils loose and curling in delicacy. It was the longest and only set of moments since late childhood, that Narcissa could recall being in such proximity to her eldest sister. She took advantage and studied Bella's face and the pulchritude she found.

Dark eyes, lined with black kohl, focused on their task. (Narcissa's own had been shadowed with hints of sweeping gold. The metallic flecks caught on the air and her eyes played lighthouse to the world.) Cissa's gaze drew over defined cheekbones, which needed neither bronze nor blush to showcase their beauty. Strangely, she found herself wanting to trace the angles. Whereas Cissa had only been allowed clear gloss, Bellatrix's lips had been rouged red for the occasion (Cissa spent long moments memorizing their curvature). The reds only accentuated her starkness —hair black, skin pale. Unlike Andromeda, Bellatrix refused to tame her hair up and slick. Instead, she had opted to style her mane down. Pinned left of neck, it swept asymmetrically, falling in curled layers upon shoulder and back. Blues followed the bare of neck as its curve led down to a risqué neckline.

Narcissa was sure their mother would no doubt purse her lips in a ghastly manner once she saw the gown. But there was no denying that Bella was ever so breath stealing in it. It was an atypical fashion of their time and station, as it boasted no jeweled embellishment. The velvet was of deep amethyst, complementing dark eyes and highlighting blue undertones of hair. But its true feat was the accomplishment to Bellatrix's silhouette — the gown painted her a dark goddess with tempting assets. Straps lay off her shoulders, barred in entirety. Furthermore, the neckline meandered dangerously low across the tops of full breasts, tantalizing with V-neck inspiration. The bodice followed Bella's curves to the top of hips as a second skin. (Narcissa more than suspected that Bellatrix had magicked a few alterations sometime after Druella's last approval.) From here, the gown segued into a dropdown waist and trumpeted skirt. Bella even managed silver heels for the event, forgoing her barefoot or booted usual. Firm in her dislike of jewelry, she remained bare of ice and shine. This drew further attention to skin itself, an intoxicating hue, paled and jeweled. The only finishing touch Bellatrix had allowed was the black rose nestled in locks. _[Earlier, Bella had offered an unreadable look — Cissa had dared to slip the garden offering into found midnight.]_ Narcissa eyed the bloom, deep crimson longing at black. She bristled as her fingers itched to move and wondered if the velvet of petals would compare to Bella's—

It was too quiet, she realized.

Her eyes snapped back to Bellatrix, who wore the oddest expression of amusement and something else, clearly having caught the witch in perusal. Predictably, Narcissa blushed and cast eyes toward lap. It didn't help that Bella's hands were still upon her head. Lately, Cissa seemed to color around Bellatrix; it bothered her that the cause was unknown. Bella's veins prickled, knowing the origins were gold. She reminded herself that Cissa's bloodgift was still immature, as was the witch. But despite each other's walls, defenses on both sides were crumbling. Over the past year, Bella's time with Cissa had increased (this, of its own accord and independent of last month's break with Andy). Warmed glances and veiled innuendos had always been exchanged, but the past couple weeks felt boding. Bella was sure the girl didn't fully understand the connotations, not if the resulting looks of confused interest were any indication — such as the look now. Cissa was painfully innocent. After all, Bella had made sure to keep it that way, sheltering her from their prurient peers and taking the brunt of their father's…affections. But she couldn't deny that attraction lingered between them. The flush upon appled cheeks throttled heart. Blood sensitized ears, and faintly, uneven hitch in Cissy's breath made itself known. Bella was very aware of her hands.

"Your hair's finished." Bellatrix murmured low tone.

_[Minerva felt their bond flicker. On Bella's part she knew it had always been there. But the curious flashes from Narcissa were becoming more frequent. An undeniable attachment. For a moment, her academic mind pondered if such a thing transcended ethics. These thoughts slightly sickened the mind, as did the hints of jealously that plagued her.]_

Still reddened, Cissa escaped probing eyes and stood quickly. The transformation at Bella's hand astonished Narcissa. The witch stood beside her, as the blonde marveled at the woman in the mirror, the beautiful one Cissa supposed was herself. Most of her hair had been swept back, about her head in a sophisticated updo. But this is where Bellatrix had deviated from tradition. To appease their modest mother, the top half_ was _elegant in back. But rather than constrict the gold into a bun, Bellatrix had swept it up into a pile of gentle curls. The lower half of Cissa's hair was more daring. In the mirror, Cissa saw that tendrils remained loose, cascading in sunny curls down the nape of her neck, landing their glory upon her lower back.

"She's going to skin you raw. I'm supposed to look _demure_, not alluring," Narcissa whispered, awed and apprehensive.

"Maman's rather fond of you in porcelain. I'd rather you in glory." Bella's brushed her neck and twirled a curl fondly.

In the cool of the room, Cissa shivered. From the room. Yes, from the room. The room.

"Why did…" Narcissa didn't know how to put it. What was she supposed to say? _Why the hell did Bella make her_ _beautiful?_ That seemed stroppy. But Bella saw her thoughts anyway.

"It's only fair, Cissy." The hand trailed across the witch's back in warm wave. Bellatrix made toward the closet, ignoring the dress mannequin by the vanity. Upon her approach, the wardrobe doors flung open. It was an ironic juxtaposition: Bella in her finery, grappling amongst the closet contents.

"What is?" Blonde eyebrows furrowed, both at her sister's words and the current antics in the closet.

"That the hair reflects the witch." Bellatrix's tone was somewhat muffled and casual.

Narcissa's heart hopped an unexpected game of hopscotch. _'Surely she doesn't mean that __**she**__ thinks I'm allu—'_

"Yes to the dress then, aye?" Bellatrix brogued, coming out of the closet, velour garment bag in hand.

Narcissa look from the mannequin to her sister's burden with nasty understanding; she and Bella were working toward an early grave at Druella's hand.

"_Must_ you provoke the she-devil?"

Bella's sinister smirk spoke brashly, more than words ever could. In the years of late, demons had begun to show themselves in the witch's harsh humor. Narcissa didn't judge the chosen mechanism of defense, nor usually did it worry her. But as they grew older, the demons accumulated and Bella's antics proved pathological in nature. There were times they purposely aimed with the intent of backfiring upon Bellatrix herself.

"But of course. What else would I do for my evening's entertainment?"

"I don't know!" Cissa snapped back. "Allow life to unfold without your added rancor?!"

Wide-eyed, Narcissa clapped hand over mouth. Usually she could control her inclination toward snark. But when it did happen, more often than not, her icicles aimed at Bellatrix. A muscle twitched on Bella's face. Cissa knew it as hint of rage. However, what confused her was the lack of heated comment and the addition of twinkling eyes.

"And here I thought you _enjoyed_ my rancor. You certainly never complain when I do the dirty work, not when it benefits you."

Narcissa had the grating urge to bare teeth at her vexing sister. Bella was most maddening, especially when speaking truth. Cissa opted to let the issue slide them pass and Bellatrix moved on. She always did, never expecting others to linger upon her biting words any longer than she did herself.

"Truly, dear. Did you think I'd let you touch that prim monstrosity Maman commissioned for you? It's well-suited for a genuflecting poppet, not an eligible lady presented to society." Bella scoffed at the ethereal thing, plucking its chiffon overlay with indignant distaste. The roseate gown was…nice. Flower buds lined the empire waist and transverse neckline. Complimenting this axis, diagonal gathers of fabric starred out from the waist, meant to highlight Cissa's slender form.

_[Last week at Twilfit and Tattings, Madam Assaisonné __and several dressing assistants had fussed loudly with Druella over the finishing fixes. In the crowing room, Narcissa had stood quietly on the alteration mount. Outwardly, she looked winsome, presented as everything a well-brought-up girl should be. But inside, she'd screamed at the top of her lungs and no one even looked up. The perfection was oppressing and she longed to escape into another world where she could demolish porcelain dolls. From the shadowed corners of the shop, Bellatrix found her. Their eyes had met briefly and the blonde knew that scream had been heard.]_

At the word _eligible_, Narcissa scrunched up her nose. It was hard to think of herself as an adult member of society, but that's exactly what tonight benchmarked. After her debut, suitors would begin a'calling. Frankly, Narcissa rather thought the whole courtship process inane. Though she had to admit, her heart pattered oddly at the thought of Lucius, hair white as the moon. He would be there tonight at her invitation, as would many other Hogwarts friends. Garment bag in one arm, wand in other, Bellatrix transfigured the spare chair into a second mannequin. Cissa's interest piqued and a thought occurred.

"What secret corner did even you pull that from? I looked in that closet, thrice."

"Is _that _where you disappeared to after breakfast? Whatever were you looking for, Cissy?" Eyebrow arched high and knowing smile quirked.

Narcissa blushed. Truth be told, she had been admiring her sisters' gowns: Andromeda's stunning silks and Bella's amethyst seduction.

"Never fear." The witch chuckled promise. Bella very well knew that Cissa detested the demarcated dress. And she knew the girl envied her elder sisters something awful for their better fate. "Take care with you color dear," She lilted impishly. "Green may be fetching, but you're not my emerald. Tonight, others will don that particular tone and you'll outshine all." Many layers underscored that statement.

_[Minerva's mind blared. Narcissa may not understand the color connotation, but the professor more than well did.] _

Amongst Cissa's confusion and Bella's odd tones of duality, there was flirtatious intent. Or so Cissy thought. So despite the pinks that rose to cheeks, Narcissa continued, avoiding dark eyes and emotions that incited.

"H-However did you manage to hide it?" Her soft stumbles seemed arbitrary, now out the mouth. Cissa's face grew hot and the robe tied around her hips seemed thin beneath Bella's gaze.

"Modified _Homenum Revelio_ to work for an object. Activates upon the caster's touch. You just have to know what you're looking for."

Narcissa blinked. Her sister's brilliant mind fascinated. (She made mental note to ask later for a lesson on charm modification.) Wand wave and the garment bag floated in mid-air. Bella began to unhook its button clasps. As she leaned over, a half-smile hid. Another wand flick and a plume of crimson smoked and rematerialized around mannequin. Cissa gasped. Forgotten, the garment bag fell to floor. Bellatrix was insane — The gown was gorgeous. Upon the mannequin it shone as blood ruby. Bella took advantage of the woman's incredulity.

"Consider it an early birthday present." Voice was low and rasping. "I even added a warming charm…so don't let that face of yours freeze too much." Bella knew Cissa thrilled at the gift when the slight didn't even register.

Mouth agape, Narcissa circled the dress several times, hand to chest in disbelief. The gown was a strapless masterpiece. A sweetheart neck gave way to a slim corset. Diamonds tastefully decorated the bustline and swept in large zigzags across the torso. The natural waist then gave way to floor-length taffeta ruffles that were the embodiment of sophistication. The gown managed to avoid cupcake status, yet alluded to high royalty all the same. The blonde swept a shaking hand across the bodice and turned to Bella, wordless and emotive. It wasn't the gown (well, part of it was — Narcissa wasn't named as such for nothing). It was the sentiment that floored. Daytime eyes stormed, rousing oceans. Several feet away from this pleasing display, Bellatrix twirled her wand, rather purposefully restrained in emotion. Cissa felt odd and the woman's bared shoulders suddenly seemed the most interesting thing in the room. The flash in Bella's peripherals signaled a long forgone action in their lives. Overcome, Cissa ran to her darkest sister. If Bella was surprised, she didn't show it, merely managed to catch Cissa in arm before the witch knocked them both over.

"Bella. Bella, you shouldn't have, I can't _possibly_ wear that. People will see!" The witch murmured into skin, lips grazing velvet and the top of Bella's breastbone.

Arms came about her, laughing. Narcissa froze, comprehending the feel of bare skin against her cheek, arms…lips. Blood bubbled. Realizing their intimate position, Cissa hastened to pull away. But Bella held her there firmly and chuckled. In the embrace, Narcissa trembled when warm breath caressed her ear in preparation for speech.

"Well, dear, I think you'll _have_ to, considering the dress was made for you. And I do mean that quite literally. I had it commissioned, with you as muse. That dress, is only yours."

After such statement, no words were to be had from Narcissa's mouth. She did the only thing fathomable. Where lips still rested upon her sister's chest, she trembled a soft kiss into the skin there. Cissa was quite sure she imagined the faint shudder that rippled Bella's form.

"Time is running short. Now strip." Bellatrix rasped out.

"WHAT?!" Narcissa's head flew up at the unexpected comment.

"Unless you'd prefer to make your grand entrance in your dressing robe?" Bellatrix cackled softly.

Narcissa made a horrified face.

"I thought not."

Still she hesitated. Why, Cissa wasn't sure. But the idea of undressing in front of Bellatrix and revealing undergarments (that Andy had insisted she wear) did terrible things to her stomach. Cissa must have waited too long for Bella's liking because steady hands at her abdomen began unlacing silk bows.

"Fuck…" She whispered. Shaking hands fell to velveted hips in attempt to delay.

The vulnerable tone startled Bellatrix, as did the lack of propriety. Neither of them was sure what the cussed whisper carried.

_[Minerva reckoned it was just sheer emotion. Watching from afar, she was incredulous at the amount of sexual tension between her students, Narcissa just shy of seventeen and her protégé approaching nineteen. At least both parties had reached the age of consent. And at least English law did not encompass same-sex incest, not that Muggle legalities mattered. But she doubted the Ministry had any sort of provisions in place either. It approached taboo beyond the incestual reasons, but was not illegal. Somehow that made her breath come easier. But such ambiguity had always been the case amongst Hogwarts students. What did they expect when you threw a horde of horny adolescents and young adults together. The Ministry was fine enough to consider them all schoolmates. There was a line somewhere, Minerva knew. She'd never condone a seventh year pursuing a first. Or a second. Or a Third. Fourth…felt grey. But she remembered her own youthful romances and had trouble eating the hypocrisy.]_

Bellatrix misunderstood and appealed to rationale, "Cissa, we've no time for your modesty, we're already running late. And from past experience, I know you'd rather Marshona _not_ act as dresser." Their mother's lady-in-waiting was efficient to a painful extent. It made corset lacing more atrocious, if possible. Her eyes softened in reassurance. "It's only me, love."

_'__I think that's the problem,'_ Cissa's mind supplied. But she relaxed. Despite their…oddity of late, she had no question that Bella held her best interest at the forefront.

The Slytherin took this for acquiescence and resumed the silk ties. She made quick work of them and the robe unfastened. Despite the functionality and necessity of the situation, Bella enjoyed the task. She ignored, and yet noted, her sister's trembling form with some amount of concern. The witch did her best to assuage, humming lightly, but she could not help eager hands that slid the silk robe off shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. Cream lingerie revealed and did wonderful things. She approved of Andy's choice. Although meant for the pink gown, it would work beautifully with the red — the cut lent itself well. Leave it to Andromeda to choose versatile undergarments. In that moment, Bella felt fond of Meda's practicality. Almost. She spun the witch once to observe her form. Bellatrix was relieved, gratified that last minute alteration spells wouldn't be needed; the dress would fit after all (it seemed her measurement estimates neared perfection). At the moment, Bella was most pleased with her clinical ability to reign in darker tendencies. She hushed the thought, not wanting to jinx the control. It was unexpected then, that Narcissa was the less innocent of the two.

_'__Bella. Velvet. So good.' _Cissa's thoughts fragmented.

_[It became quite clear to Minerva that the girl was apparently closer to woman than child.]_

Her torso brushed against Bella's dress as she spun once for the witch, and softness tickled what Narcissa thought might be desire. The second thought was to apprehension. Her head ducked, but she felt dark eyes tracing her bared form and felt lacking before her sister's more developed body. Bella had a terrible ability to strip those before her naked (in the metaphorical sense…usually). Cissa felt exposed, even though her trust in Bella was implicit. Nothing happened for a moment as everything stilled. With a tender smile, the witch recognized her sister's modesty. What others might call prudish was just Narcissa's way. But more so, she recognized Cissy's fear of failing…failing Bellatrix in particular. It seemed to terrify the girl, currently, the idea that Bella would think her ugly. Knowingly, her hand rolled Cissa's chin upward. This time, Narcissa clearly felt blood jump as eyes met across narrow chasm. Hand trailed down Cissa's arm and her lids fluttered shut at the chills produced. Bellatrix leaned in and the blonde felt whispers graze her neck.

"While underneath your clothes there's an endless story, I'd rather the rest of the world not read it. Get dressed."

It was unnerving how simple sentence from the dark girl could assuage a mountain of fears. And whether it was the words, the whisper, or the touch…Narcissa was reassured. When again her lids lifted, Bellatrix was a safe distance away once more, in front of the vanity. Bella's wand swished and the dress appeared in her arms, back unhooked, back unlaced. Cissa didn't move. Expectation rose as eyebrow. The blonde approached and tried not to falter under the watchful gaze of her sister. But she could not help the ruddy color that swam to cheeks as Bella's eyes roved her laced form.

_'__Not my emerald. No. You're my ruby.'_

_[With unnerving insight, Minerva found herself flushing. Strange that she could find any of her heart, as she watched her protégé eye's feast on the half-clad Narcissa. But Professor McGonagall had to admit the blonde was truly an uncommon grace. Unlike her elder sisters, who were prone to pronounced curves, Narcissa was of a slender build with subtle dips and valleys. She was too petite to be willowy, but Minerva thought there might be recessive Veela lingerings. (In her late teens, Cissa would indeed sprout up.) Her bone structure was less angular and held a delicacy that exuded sinful innocence. It wasn't hard to fathom Bella's physical attraction (or emotional). Minerva watched as the blonde approached her sister with a shy intensity. Professor McGonagall couldn't decide if it was an idolizing sister finding kin or a tentative woman wanting would-be lover.]_

Bellatrix held out the red gown and with her help Cissa stepped in. She gnawed her lip as black curls brushed her shoulder. Unlatched, the bodice gaped and the skirt hung loose about her hips. Bella moved behind Cissa; piano hands lifted the dress into place and began latching the bodice clasps. There were perhaps several dozen (along with superfluous laces). Click. Click. Click. Narcissa's preemptive breath shouted in the quiet room. She sucked in and surprised at the lack of pain. She softened at Bella's kindness: the corset was markedly humane. Nimble fingers sensitized her back with repetition, hooks closing. She was thankful when Bella's words began again, either out of pity or simple conversation. The clicks continued.

"It's twenty-five past nine." Hands were stable, unhurried. "Plenty moments left. Malfoy should be arriving soon, aye?" Click. Click click.

"Lucius? Why would that matter?" The blonde quirked. "I suppose he's coming with the rest of the clan."

The clicks abruptly stopped. Bellatrix hissed into her ear with odd urgency.

"What do mean, he's coming with the Malfoy clan? He's supposed to escort you down the grand landing."

_'__Oh. Right.' _Narcissa had neglected to mention that _minor_ detail to her family. Incensed at the lack of response, Bellatrix leaned around to peer at her sister's guilty face. And wanted to stab game in the foot.

"Bloody fuck, Cissy, it's less than forty minutes before your entrance! Don't tell me I have to go hunt down the stupid bint." Bella considered, "Or rather, sic Andy on him."

But the latching continued, annoyed, and now hurried. Click. _Click_ Click. Click Click _Click_ Click. Bella's irascibility didn't permeate Cissa's silence. This indicated one of two likelihoods: 1) Petulance, or 2) the situation was not as it seemed. Bellatrix bet on the second, as her sister was no fool. Not to mention, an inkling sounded in her blood and smelled like pine needles. She sighed, attempting at humanity.

"Let's try this again. Explain. Now." Voice eerily calm, Bellatrix left no room for escape.

Click. Narcissa collected her words.

"I…er…I asked him not to. Escort me. That is."

**Click** CLICK. Click _click_ click click CLICK. Narcissa winced at the ferociousness of Bella's latching, uneven and staccatoed.

"And you didn't think to tell anyone? Shit in a bucket, Narcissa, could you be more _stupid_? Stop being a child. You very well know our betrothal prospects depend on your success tonight. And I'd rather fuck Lestrange over Parkinson, if given that half-wit choice." Bella didn't mince, she pulverized.

_[Minerva frowned, but understood. There were limited options. And Bella was only trying to allow them choice between Mephistopheles and Lucifer. Protection of Narcissa did not negate this harshness.]_

The furious latching continued. CLICK Click click _click_ **CLICK**. Complete. Flick and she wanded the laces in one fell swoop. It wasn't the most comfortable way, but drawn-out lacing was worse in its prolixity. She expected the gasp, but Bellatrix's hands froze when the distinct sound of a sniffle echoed in the room. Ah. Her words. Swiftly, hands abandoned the corset (now laced and latched in full). They slid over Cissy's back, around waist in atonement, embracing the blonde from behind.

"Shit. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, Cissa, shhh…" Bella had meant it, just not so…saliently. It wasn't fair, but it was true. Their lives were not their own.

Narcissa nodded once into the embrace and chalked emotion up to the overall jitters of the night. An apology from her sister was a sparse thing so she took it without question, regardless of the hurt caused. Despite Cissa's short-lived tears, skin tingled. Bella's chest pressed against her back and did debilitating things to her legs (and churned butter for knees). Bellatrix became concerned, as Cissa seemed to teeter on stability. She held the girl firmly around the waist, diamonds cutting into hand. Assuming distress, Bella kissed her neck, impulsively. And when the trembles worsened, she recognized them for something else. She ignored the knowledge. A thought occurred. She voiced it.

"Cissa, at least tell me…why reject the escort offer? It's been arranged for over a year. And it's no secret that there's a _fondness_ between you two." These last words colored with a not-so-subtle disdain.

Cissa became statue in her arms. _'Ah.' _Bella had found the iceberg tip. For moments, she thought the girl would remain mute. But then Cissy spoke, words so quiet Bellatrix had to press closer against taffeta to hear.

"I'm well aware our fate is tied to my success." Icicles poked. "But I just…couldn't play doll tonight. Not if I ever want any sort of say in our world." Fair Narcissa had political point. Women in their world had to balance formidability with gender. Their survival required it. "Neither of your escorts were expected betrothals. But Lucius? Everyone assumes the trajectory. Even you." Cissa whispered dead wood and realities. "Did it ever occur to you that I would rather debut as witch…and not as his?" Narcissa scoffed, sinking into Bella's body all the same. "I lose power the second I'm on his arm."

"Cissy." Bellatrix had no retort. She was parts proud and sad. Angry and warm. She forgot sometimes, how astute her little sister was. Political genius hid behind delicate features.

"That dress over there. You said it was fit for a poppet." Their eyes drifted toward the perfect and stupid thing. "Maman. Papa. The Blacks. Even Lucius. I'm just their doll." Narcissa's voice barely made sound, night crystals creeping up window.

_[With vehemence she didn't think possible, Professor McGonagall was happy for her half-blood heritage. Abhorrence ran through her soul, paying witness to the struggle of these young women, raised as little more than cattle and then sent to the slaughter of marriage.]_

For assuredly not the first, and most certainly not the last, Bella cursed society, and the pressure placed upon the youngest Black sister. It cankered Bellatrix that despite all her protection, she couldn't save the girl from that. She opted for comfort instead. Touch got through fastest to Narcissa and Bellatrix meant to deliver. A palm splayed over Cissa's belly, as stomach muscles constricted with emotion. Her free hand came to rest over blue heart. And whispered words were ardently fraught and sincere.

"In all the days and nights, you have never played the part of puppet with me. Nor will you ever." She held and was Cissa's cave. Amidst the contact, Bella's blood pinged, alerting. She knew the witch had only spoken half.

"Tell me." Her breath whispered into the shell of ear.

The tiny whimper that resulted could have meant many things, multiple things even. Hating herself, Bellatrix could not curb experiment. She let her mouth rest on the side of Cissy's neck; a faint brush laid there could have been a kiss. Whimper whispered again and Bella doubted the blonde was aware. However, it apparently was enough to prompt her into speech.

"You won't understand. I don't even—"

"Try me." Bellatrix eyed the window, assessing night and candle. Half past nine.

"Uncle Rosier escorted you." Narcissa was incisive (and felt the eyebrow rise against her head).

"Non sequitur much? But aye, he did." Though immensely fond of her uncle, it had been more so a strategic move to prevent bloodbath between vying suitor families. "Papa didn't want a repeat of the Nott ball."

Men and their stiff wands. They both cringed in memory of the bloody and unfortunate ending of _that _situation. Shifting, Narcissa turned her head. Their noses brushed. In that crafty manner of hers, she offered:

"It's not a rare thing you know, familial escorts. Especially when the débutante is under age, such as the likes of me."

Bellatrix had to applaud her sister's logic; she saw where this was going.

"And while in your case, _you_ had no older siblings. But I do."

Bellatrix nuzzled her sister's nose in a seductive, or just Bella-like, fashion. It was high honor in pureblood society to escort a débutante. And it was a rare occasion when a woman was afforded the chance (as men did not debut). The witch rather did like the idea of rising to the occasion. Not to mention the royal bonus of pissing off her parents.

"You want _me_ to act as your débutante escort, because Malfoy likes dolls?"

Narcissa could not help the laughter that bust out her chest. Bellatrix glorified as it rumbled through her hands and body. It always lightened the soul to find sun in the most shadowed of places.

"That's not what I said! But yes, in short, you harpy." Their cheeks touched and Narcissa whispered. "Lady Black, would you do me the honor and escort me this evening?" Despite the embrace, formalities shone, as did her awkward half curtsy.

Bellatrix ever so slightly bowed her head. "It's you who honors me, Sun. I will." She felt Cissa's grin against her cheek and the beginning of bounces wiggled, but "…on one condition."

Grin faded and bounces desisted. Bellatrix was known to drive fair but solid bargains. Narcissa waited for criterion.

"Truth."

The blonde pulled back, questioning. Bella pulled forward, answering.

"Tell me. Why my hand and not Meda's?"

Bellatrix felt her blood (no, _their_ blood) jolt. Narcissa visibly paled as it climbed, buzzing merlot. It didn't usually linger (just bragged, spurts of I AM I AM I AM). But this was fireside chat and rising embers, creeping dawdler eating dires. Touch was danger, this embrace no stranger.

"As you said, I'm never the puppet with y-you."

Bella closed eyes, familiar with the rising sting. It pushed and pulled and beat and rolled, a dark too hard to beat. She lost the strength of restraint and pressed into the witch, aligning hips to curve in the tightest of red fashions. Hands fell to the blonde's waistline and swayed them slightly, the teasing motion of subtlety and mistakes.

"And yet, Andy's never made you her doll either," Bella husked. "What then, Cissy, makes my arm so _special_ tonight, hmmm?"

Bella had yet to see the full effect of crimson Narcissa. But from where she stood behind, the gown did marvelous things to the girl's silhouette…and bust. She guided them in the smallest of dances and cringed pleasure as lust bust a lock: Cissa let out another unconscious whimper.

_'__Time to up the ante.' _Despite self-disgust, Bella recognized the battle she was rapidly losing. And she couldn't find the conscience to remain entirely unhappy about it. Blackblood was a dichotomous demon and she found it easier to let it feed. Bellatrix appreciated her handwork: blonde curls fell like fire, red backline peeking through gold. She spared a hand and delicately brushed them out of her way, exposing a bared back. Lips descended on a creamy shoulder. Bellatrix trailed her weakness to an elegant neck. Narcissa stuttered as soft kisses paid upon flesh.

"B-Bella, what are you d-doing?" Blonde words were breathy sighs.

"I think..." Another kiss upon neck. "The better question is…"

A whimper.

"Do you understand _why_ I'm doing it?"

Bella needed her to understand. _Whys_ are particular creatures. And intent was everything. Narcissa trembled against mouth and the rising surge in blood.

"I don't und-d-derstand. I f-feel…blood…you…"

Blood. The mention of which finalized something for Bella. Abruptly, she spun Narcissa to face her. Like a Fury, the gown billowed about the witch in flight, cerise poise and sensuality. Cissa was a sight and Bella's gaze hungrily kissed the skin that dress didn't cover. Inwardly, she agreed most satisfactorily with herself: it had been 50,000 galleons well spent. Purple sprung out of her darks and her hair beamed starlight. Velvet and violets enthralled Narcissa. Skin singed where Bella's touch lingered. Blood welled in veins. And unable (and not wanting) to resist the ancient call, Cissa moved toward the dark and pulled at its rope. It answered in hot sparks, taking her hand. Bellatrix felt the tingle, which grasped with tentative and solid force. Good. Apparently, Cissa was a quick learner. But now was not the time for lessons (Bella would teach the finer points of the gift later). It was time for the _other_ part. Unable to help herself, Narcissa's hands found Bella's face, eyes magnetized. Bellatrix warred within.

_'__She's too young, she's…' _breaking as the girl arched into velvet. Superego defeated, Bella's hand splayed Cissa's spine and pulled her close, the other finding the witch's chin in a shaking caress.

_Ah, the sun is calling  
>It whispers to me softly, "Come and play"<br>But I, I am falling  
>And if I let myself go I'm the only one to blame<em>

With duplicate hopes (that Cissa would both deny and fulfill) Bellatrix pulled rosy lips close to her own. Skimming, she queried, demanding once last time.

"You tell me the truth, Narcissa Black. Why do you desire my arm tonight?" She cut the blonde speechless.

Those lips and brains were shit for garters. Black curls fell on her and she relished the universe, those arms. Blood was dark and shared solace. It turned out Cissa's soul for them both to see. She could _feel_ Bella wallowing there, in the part of them that was collective. Slow touch tango had stepped with innuendo, had finally brought them to here: this burning bridge. And Bellatrix led her there, vision swimming before eyes, clouding. Magic.

* * *

><p><em>In the middle of a flaming crossroad, Narcissa found herself singed and sitting upon a railing's edge. She peered down at the flaming water, purple and far beneath her feet. It bubbled like cauldron. Upward, Cissa observed her safer surroundings. Both sides of the bridge crossing led to choices. To her right: a cool air midst, platonics. To her left: a sandy desert, estrangement. Both would extinguish the fire for good. Bellatrix was giving her the option to disregard the bond they had begun to build. But only one choice would simultaneously quench and forever fuel. <em>

_Narcissa shivered, as phantom thumb brushed her bottom lip. The scent of pine, magic, and something so uniquely Bella, enveloped her at the crossroads. Her soul ached, this unnamable pain of incompletion. Her choice was clear. _

_She jumped, dress billowing as she plunged over the railing into the fiery depths below._

* * *

><p>The vision ended abruptly as blood surged in exhilaration. Cissy's lids shot open to violets, staring brilliant in obvious interregnum. She saw longing and dark and murder and heart. Bella's eyes undid and the dam burst, Cissa's soul spilling out in trembles…against the red lips that hovered near. She found the words hidden all along.<p>

"Because it's _you_. Because suns grow dim without night. And whenever you're near, my blood declares you its anthem. How could anyone else escort me tonight, when my side was meant for yours?" All this Cissa said, confusion coating her devotion.

But with that soundly declared, Bellatrix kissed her.

_[Minerva knew this action was the single moment, when the Black sisters jumped the point of no return. She wasn't quite sure where to place her anger. Their despicable father? The incestual blood that ran through Black veins? Bellatrix herself? Her own failed guidance of pupil? No matter the target, the professor raged inside for innocence lost and her own might-have-beens. For whether Bella would have been as her daughter, colleague…lover, all those were lost after this knowledge much too intimate. Perhaps that was why Bella hadn't revealed it until her final betrayal.]_

A mere brush of the lips, but it stole Cissa's breath. Another brush. And then another. Narcissa whimpered. Bella's parted her lips gently and explored with a restrained softness, for Cissa's sake.

_'__Winter sun.' _The heart whispered.

Surprisingly, it was eager Narcissa who intensified and stole red lips. A dark chuckle rolled as Bellatrix obliged the impatient witch. She switched direction, tugging bottom lip into insistent mouth. Cissa let a sangria moan fly; it rippled drunk through system. It also sobered.

_'__Crap. Forty-five past nine.' _Bellatrix drank the embrace, knowing it needed to age some more, but savoring the sweetness all the same.

This was the worst time to explore such…_things_. It was also the worst age; the witch was young. They still had a few years before true consummation of their bond. For now, Bellatrix resigned herself to stealing and returning moments. Reining herself, she returned the kiss to its start. They ended in the softest of brushes, and with Narcissa tucked, trembling against her chest. Desire dancing. Breath chanting.

"We have to go." Bellatrix whispered into gold. She felt confusion radiating off her sister, catalytic and coiled. They didn't speak to the kiss. It was best to let these things run their damning course. Bella herself wasn't even solid on emotion.

_'__Meda.' _Her blood faintly recalled, mostly on autopilot. But that craving was steadily weakening over time. And Narcissa…Bellatrix had known the pull was there. Erroneously, she had assumed their bloodrite had merely been pushing for an obligatory consummation. She hadn't expected the dark tenderness for her youngest sister, the one found in heart. Tonight had only further proved its steadfast (and now growing) existence. Butterfly lashes ruled her heartbeat, Monarchs checking mate. She cursed internally. And so it had begun again. Huddled against velvet, Narcissa was uncomprehending.

_'__Bella. My sister. I kissed my sister.' _Narcissa blinked wide-eyed stare against Bella. Her sister. Her first kiss. Her sister. Until this point she hadn't considered the connotations of her (and Bella's apparently mutual) attraction. What sickened, was that it didn't bother her at all. Kissing Bella was natural as breathing. It _was _breathing. And she was glad to have breathed first with Bella. Her mind ran in all directions and she squeezed eyes tight, building shields with lids and lashes.

_[Minerva sympathized, slightly. The entire display had been heat producing, to say the least.] _

"Gloves." Cissa whispered.

It seemed a ridiculous thing to utter, a return to mere trivia after such a profound embrace. But the show must go on. Bella knew this best of all. Narcissa felt lips brush atop her head, blanketing dark comfort and shared plight. Bellatrix pulled away and their veins protested the loss. But then a warm hand gripped hers and led them back to the vanity, to the array of lace, satin, and leather fates. Many of the gloves were white-toned, the color of purity. However, the odd green and yellow played in the pack. Narcissa cringed at a strange electric blue pair. Wacky Aunt Lucretia's perhaps? (The woman _had_ married a Prewett after all. Like the Potters, the Prewetts were suspected blood traitors.)

"You could wear Aunt Elladora's. She's rather safe from being blasted off the family tree…considering her deceased state and all."

In their return to normalcy, so came Bella's dry humor. However, underscored was the hint that Narcissa ought make a safe choice, if only to contrast their taboo of before. Cissa's normal humor began to return; she pushed confounded feelings to the bench.

"Bella, those things are ancient. The last century has been less than kind."

Narcissa scrunched up her face at the snarly old things, yellowed with age. The lace had unraveled in spots, pilled in others. Bella's face regarded her sister's with a smirk. It fell to a considering look.

"_Accio_."

From the top shelf of the closet, a small coffer zoomed toward them. Narcissa ducked and scowled at the witch, as it barely missed the top of her crouching head. Bellatrix ignored this and continued.

"There's one last offer you've yet to consider." The box unlatched with a click. Bella pulled it open to display its contents.

On blue velour, a pair of evening gloves greeted Narcissa. It was the hue that caught Cissa's eye — they were black as her very name, an unheard color for débutante gloves. Intricate lace alternated between eyelets and flowering patterns. The overall effect was salacious. Cissa ran her fingers along the box ledge in appreciation.

"Whose are these? Maman didn't mention them a'tall. They're stunning, they're—"

"Mine."

Narcissa's eyes flickered up to Bella's face in surprise and question.

"I believe you missed the presentation. Rosier was consoling your tears, under an end table I believe."

They both recalled the painful slap Cygnus had doled out, tear stinging Narcissa's face (punishment for the grape incident). And Bellatrix never mentioned that in his anger she'd caught him lingering outside Cissy's room after the party, his belt undone and coal eyes lusting. Nor did she ever relay that her provocations had turned him away from her younger, leading him toward her own chambers instead. She counted this as her first act of adulthood. (Not that this was new or consensual.) Cissa didn't understand the shadows behind dark eyes, but she felt the hiss-pops in Bella's blood. Curious eyes concerned and Bellatrix realized she would have to tread thoughts more carefully from on out.

"You would offer me your gloves?" The connotation unsettled, thrilled Narcissa. Bella hadn't even offered hers to Andy.

"I would."

The possessive gleam brushed Cissa's senses like no other. She understood the public mark Bellatrix would brand on her tonight. Narcissa Black would climb high into the ranks of society, further exalted by Bella's claim to her. It didn't matter the type of claim — any claim Bellatrix Black conjured was know to be infallible. They would see Narcissa as formidable witch, fiercely favoured by a rising power.

"I accept." Cissa's heart swelled.

Bellatrix placed the box on the vanity and pulled out the first glove. Like one might with a pair of stockings, she gathered up the sleeve to the fingers, careful not to snag nails on the delicate lace. Narcissa watched graceful hands with fascination.

"Well, come then, we've only seven minutes."

Ah. That was her cue. Narcissa extended an arm. It was a sensual experience, allowing Bellatrix to dress her. Lace slid onto fingers, up delicate wrist, and over forearm and elbow. Repetition on the other arm proved no less sense provoking. Once the set was on, Narcissa held hands out and gazed. It was peculiar just how sensual she felt in Bella's gloves. They mostly fit, albeit slightly loose.

"I rather like the look of you in my clothes." Bellatrix smirked and muttered, "_Reducio_." The gloves shrank slightly, hugging perfection. "You can show them who your hands were made for and they'll never know." She was casual, tracing lace. "But I will."

Narcissa flushed. There wasn't time enough to respond to that loaded statement. She inspected her arms again. The witch's magic appeared flawless as always.

_[The Gryffindor narrowed eyes at the blatant attraction. Grudgingly, the professor had to admit she was unsurprised, even somewhat pleased at Bella's lack of denial. In action, good or bad, Bellatrix was the least deceitful person Minerva knew. To some extent the professor was glad that her protégé's character held up, even during the worst of sins. Smile quirked her teaching heart at the flawless (and wandless) spellcast.]_

"And now, for finishing touch." Bellatrix fiddled in a hidden dress pocket. Mid search, a last inspiration struck. She looked up. "You didn't forget shoes, did you?"

Narcissa hiked the gown up several inches to display heels. Her nerves crept as well; the grand staircase had an endless cascade of steps — tripping seemed a plausible thing. Satisfied, Bellatrix clucked.

"Good. Can't pull a _me_ tonight and go barefoot. Poor Mobi might actually flog you." Bella's odd search continued.

Narcissa might have actually preferred the whipping to public humiliation.

"Aye, here it be. To the looking glass you go, love. Come then, Cissy, don't make me Imperio you, we haven't time for dawdle."

Procrastinating her nervous feet, the witch followed Bella to the huge oval mirror mounted on the wall. She viewed herself, and like before, did not recognize the enticing reflection. The black gloves had only added a seductive quality. Suddenly, a sensation at the hollow of her neck cooled skin. Startled, she found black curls on her shoulder and Bella's hands upon her as they fastened something about her neck.

"I saw this last month in Diagon Alley. I knew it was yours."

Narcissa's laced fingers went to her neck, sheltering her sister's hand. A string of black pearls shone dark as Bella's arrogance, as opposite from fair features as anything could be. Her mind whispered a familiar haunt. And not for the first time she longed for her own head of dark locks. Cissa's face fell slightly. But the necklace was beautiful…as was her sister. That _feeling_ rose up in her again. The one that signaled intangibles whenever Bella was near. The witch whispered belief into golden locks.

"I know your fears, golden girl. You think that you're less Black than us. I see how you hate your golds, your skies, your ice."

Cissa's eyes widened to the whites, her anger like brittle trees. Her younger self would have teared. Now wizened, she raged tempest instead, wintered and weathered. (Bella decided now was not the time to address the frost, which budded on glass and walls.)

"They'll laugh out there, this white girl pretending to be Black." The blonde was blunt, chopping blunt soul on block. "We both know I'm better suited to birch and bitters, not forests and pitch. I know the rumors." She whispered fears, wide-eyed childhood beneath teenage eyes. Cissa whispered, "And Maman has always been too close with Monsieur Malfoy."

Lucius too had always wondered. She'd seen it in his silence, his appraisal of her features, too delicate, too fair. The odd tenderness between them, half attraction, half fraternal affection. And Abraxas had always doted upon her, more so than her sisters. Cissa's face buried in Bella's curls, icing vulnerability. This was not something she'd ever spoken aloud to self, let alone to sister. Druella's faithfulness was never explicitly questioned, but her entire childhood had been filled with this unspoken. It was in the tone of adults, children's parroting. Narcissa wished herself deep in hole, suffocating in dirt. At least there she might be coated in death and the correct color. It was a sin, a discredit to their Black upbringing to even hold such insecurity; Blacks were never insecure. Surely, Bellatrix would tell, surely she would—

"Cissa…"

The strangled whisper did no such thing. Bella did not have doubts, only preliminary theories: Cissa was her sister, their bond proved as much, just as it proved their Blackness…but too many inconsistencies had aroused her suspicions. It begat the subject of exact lineage. _[Her illuminating conversation with Rosier wouldn't happen until the following year. In the meantime…] _She wondered if one or all of them were evidence of indiscretion. _[Of course, her uncle would dispel this notion, revealing that Druella Black was Black twice over. That their family was fucked over. So in the end, the Black sisters were bound by the incestual actions of their inbred parents. And in Narcissa's case, by recessive Rosier genes. It wasn't Abraxas donation after all. Still, Bellatrix thought his actions most likely confirmed an affair with Druella. But that was food for another destructive meal. At the time, she had only considered Occam's Razor, not the more convoluted truth. That was a nasty surprise coming, one not even Rosier foresaw. Their tree grew more crooked everyday.]_

"Ease your mind, sister. You're as Black as they come, your blood is Noir and no one can take this from you." Bella's hand pressed firmly to the woman's chest, to the stone, reminding the blonde that power would be theirs, one day soon and fine. The witch was hoarse and fiery, promising fidelity of their line without evidence. But she knew Cissa's need as her own. "I can travel this road on your behalf, find you proof if that's what you require. But don't doubt that you're ours. You're mine. You're yours. No matter result. Trust this." She murmured this against jawline. Wanting to nip tumultuous sentiment and tattoo it on winter flesh, footprints trekking path on world, if only to assuage this falling snowflake.

The girl was Black. Bellatrix took solace in this, as their bond never lied. It couldn't. Yes, she certainly had her theories and she'd poke the fires for answer soon enough. For now, her future lover needed reassurance. Narcissa turned in her arms and huddled amongst the velvet and the mane. For moments she meant to push on the subject. But she felt Bella hold breath and blood, praying against the same thing. She wondered if there was more (of course there was more). But for now, Cissa would let this particular secret lie. Bellatrix would work her magic and relay truth eventually. It was always timing with this one. Particular timing.

"I trust you." The blonde would gift Bella this. She knew the witch had her ways.

"Then let me…research. And if there's ever a time I don't breathe, I suspect Rosier could speak to the subject." This, Bella imparted softly; lips in golden hair, promising loophole in the event of atrocity.

Narcissa anguished at the living will and violently resisted the thought, clinging to Bella. Shaking her head, she entrenched her sister in the flowerbeds of life, refusing thoughts of undue mortality. For Cissa, life would simply stop when Bella did. Possessive fingertips asserted the reality of gardens and brushed them on the blonde's neck. Her lips watering their bond. Bellatrix moved them off the subject and shushed her, distracting with riddles.

"As for your immediate doubts, you have our _gift_ don't you?"

"You mean the necklaces?" The blonde's voice garroted and was curious whisper, assuming at black pearls and the hidden obsidian between breasts. When only silence greeted her words, Cissa forced her face up. An enigmatic smile curved and met her there with enticing lips.

"So concrete." Bellatrix was fond. "What do you think?" The witch was curious, feeling their bond waggle. Her sister was a shy creature, but then again, most adolescents were (excepting herself, of course). Bellatrix rather enjoyed prompting the girl out of her safety net and into the fire, as Narcissa did the most unexpected things when lit aflame.

"I think—"

KNOCK KNOCK. They jumped apart and the intensity broke, trading for family fuckery. Bellatrix pouted at her moment lost.

Less-than-dulcet tones penetrated through wood.

"What the hell are you two doing in there, Bella?! You were supposed to meet me at the staircase ten minutes ago!" The exasperated shout came through the door.

_'__Andy. Well…fuck.' _She scowled. "Hold your sodding horses, Meda, what do you want me to do, throw the girl down the staircase? For fuck's sake, I'm sure can Rosier stall a goddamn minute."

Cissa raised her eyebrow at Bella's potty mouth.

"What?!" Bella hissed. "Do _want_ me to shove you down the stairs?"

_[Minerva sighed — there was the crude Bellatrix she knew best. Testy and unapproved.]_

Cissa pretended she had an interesting itch, as Bella scoffed at her. She knew better than to get between bickering of her older sisters. It wouldn't be pretty. Sure enough, seconds later, Andromeda stormed in, amber eyes blazing, golden gown grazing mayhem. Narcissa took the chance to distract herself with Andy's dress (a traditional Victorian beauty, with layered silks, capped sleeves, and bow in the back of the bustle.)

"You're a complete arse!" Andy was furious and regarded Bella's dress with disdain. "I see we're going with streetwalker theme. I didn't know velvet came in whore."

"Andromeda!" Narcissa horrified at Meda's choice and vicious words. Truly, Bella's sass had been nothing out of the ordinary. She felt the anguished pop in blood…another small destruction she knew Bella would pile with the others. But they both ignored her. At least verbally.

"And you're a ninny who can't keep her cock-stuffed mouth shut." Apathetically, Bella let out the full cactus of personality. "Shall we continue to throw truth around? Or shall I ask your man-whoring date to demonstrate the fact?"

Andromeda fumed. Bellatrix appeared a nonchalant opponent. Narcissa looked between the two in pained disbelief. As of late they'd been unbearable. She more than suspected something had fractured last month.

"Bella..." Cissa admonished and pleaded. A headache blasted her temples quite suddenly. As did consternation. They always fought now. Andy would prod and Bella would attack. Andy never once saw the offense for what it was: Love. Hurt. Betrayal.

Remembering their audience, the two eldest Blacks caught each other's eye, tacitly agreeing upon temporary truce. Both of them softened at Cissa's plea. She was the only thing they agreed upon anymore. Meda took in the blonde's regalia.

"Oh Cissy, you're magnificent." She looked at her baby sister in all her fiery finery. Andy wishfully remembered the cherubic child giggling upon her shoulders, grappling at curls in merriment.

Cissa smiled weakly.

"She's but nervous." Though cold, Bellatrix offered up civility.

Andromeda recognized Bella's efforts of peace, strained as they were. She played along. And to some extent, it was nice to fall into the first non-argumentative conversation with Bellatrix in perhaps a month.

"Though, I can't imagine why she would be, she's flawless." Andy offered genuinely. "You outdid yourself, Bella. The curls are a nice touch."

Dark eyes shot towards honey, surprised at the compliment. Black connected with a warmth no longer hers. And again, Bellatrix remembered why it remained easier for them to argue.

"I _know_." She returned to arrogance.

Cissa's head pulsed. Prudently, Andromeda didn't take the bait. Though, in cloying voice, she did offer to the room:

"Well, while this has been a fascinating power-of-three reunion..."

Bella scoffed. Andromeda bristled, but continued.

"Cissa, you truly do need to enter, we're approaching the point past a fashionably-late entrance."

Narcissa sighed. The two of them weren't helping her nerves and she'd enough of their idiotic kerfuffle.

"Fine. Just please, for my sake, will both of you _can_ it? One night, one measly evening is all I ask…just pretend that you actually like each other."

"I will if _she_ will." Bellatrix chuckled juvenile deprecation. "But silly girl, it's not the lack of _like_ that's problematic, rather the overabundance. That and her lack of taste." The witch was fluent and glib.

Andromeda trembled with anger and a forgotten tenderness. Bella's eyes narrowed, shooting daggers. Cissa gasped as her blood erupted with scalding pain. Abruptly, she collapsed as vision swam dizzy and knees gave out. Bella's lack of tack was forgotten, as Andromeda's silks rushed to the floor, to their fallen sister. Hands. Not Bella. Andy. Cissa managed to pry an eye open. Worried honey collected in front of her. Bellatrix had frozen several feet away, eyes widened in furious dismay.

"Please," Cissa moaned. "Stop hurting each other. I can f-feel it...inside."

Andy couldn't bear the room any longer. Dark eyes glared upon her back and Meda wanted to stomp out all purple flowers in existence, heal them…and then blast them into oblivion again. Such was Bella. Fond lips kissed the blonde's forehead, as Andy checked for malevolent effects from Cissa's faint. Finding none, fleeting fingers twirled in gold. She let their noses touch — Cissy's favorite game as a towhead toddler. Close enough to see future, Meda's stomach dropped at the sight of reddened lips; they conveyed a consanguine connotation. It had begun again. Still her heart spoke.

"Never would we ever _wish_ to hurt you." Her eyes warned Bella of many things. To Cissa, she instructed. "Be at the top of the stairs, no more than five minutes. Even Rosier's charm will have run out by then." A weak smile surfaced and disappeared.

Cissa nodded, confused at sad eyes. Again, Meda's lips brushed her baby sister's forehead. They trembled there, as Andromeda tried not to view it as a goodbye to the girl's innocence. But red lips spoke of a consummation she knew all too well. With a rustle of silks, Andy stood and approached their eldest. She and Bella regarded each other, a million worlds lost between. Meda summed them up.

"You made your choice, you forced mine. Now we have to live with it. Let's not make the girl pay in bitter blood shall we? Especially when I see that you've wasted no time painting her lips." Ambiguity had its purposes.

Andy's gaze flickered to the hint of scarlet tinting Cissa's mouth, where there should have only been clear shine. Bellatrix was unreadable as Andy pointed out obviousness. Shaking, Meda reached out to Bella but faltered halfway. Hand dropped. Bellatrix's eyes changed. Andy ignored their garden wiles. Like a long ago bathroom mirror, her heart remained shattered; it wouldn't do to break all over again. She didn't wait for reply before gathering gown and finding door. Bella's voice stalled her exit, coating nothing like lavender and everything like tar.

"Send word, dear. A change of escort: Malfoy has been nixed. Let them know that heir Lady Black will escort Narcissa tonight."

Andy brushed the doorjamb, savoring…nothing. Back to her sisters, Bella didn't see the water splashing Meda's cheek. And Andromeda didn't see the hand that finally reached back. She left. From the floor, Narcissa sighed, wishing reparations and repairs would render.

_[It pained Minerva to witness what had become of the two eldest sisters. A vision of inseparable children by a ravine flashed in her mind. She didn't condone the extent of their relationship, but still, she ached for Bellatrix. And for the girl that had once been her confidante.]_

Bellatrix buried emotion deep in a hole, a grave of things past. The beautiful blonde in red, upon the floor, was priority. Never one to pamper, Bellatrix was blunt.

"Are you alright?" She extended her hand. Cissa took and stood.

"When are we ever alright in this house?"

The cynicism that rolled off Cissy's lips was disconcerting. Bella hated that another sun appeared dimmed, this one at her own hand.

"Cheer up, Cissa, your adoring public awaits." Bellatrix attempted at the usual sardonicism — familiarity would do the girl some good.

"Promise you won't let me trip?" Cissa let the rest of the world go, after all, tonight was supposed to be a joyous occasion.

"Let you? You tend to do that all on your own."

"Bellatrix!" Cissa shrieked.

Bella relented, "Not even if a herd of stampeding grapes accosted us." A wide grin spread across her face.

"You wouldn't dare." Narcissa eyed her sister's hands, as if searching for projectile fruits.

Bellatrix smirked impishly. She took Cissa's arm and laced it through her own. An escort had to look the part after all. Her blood thrilled, purring at their reflection in the titanic mirror by the door. Andy could have her anger, but Bella was done with charade. Cissa's was hers. If only for tonight.

"I dare." But Bella's words spoke to other actions as she cupped her witch's face. Darting, she captured Cissa.

And for the second time that night, their lips met. Bellatrix fed gentle flames. She allowed Narcissa the illusion of control, wanting to see where the girl took them. Curious lips explored in a set of brushes. Clearly inexperienced, but Bella found the kiss all the more genuine for it. Experimenting, a tongue flicked Bella's bottom lip. It proved problematic.

_Could someone please tell me what is wrong and what is right  
>I know it's right, I can't deny that it's right<br>But is it right? I am afraid I can't deny this is right_

Bella lost control or rather took it. They found themselves against the mirror, Cissa pushed up against and smudging the glass. The frost was long gone, replaced with steamed handprints. Bellatrix pressed the blonde's arms above head and thoroughly explored the girl's lips. Tongue. Teeth. Fire. Gasps from her witch's mouth did nothing to quench rising heat. She was thirsty. And Narcissa eager. Danger bubbled, when Cissy whimpered against her pulse, nipping need.

_'__Goddammit, Black. You never learn, do you?'_ Bellatrix wrenched herself away, despite the blood screams.

Collapsed on the mirror for support, Cissa whimpered, face pleading for Bellatrix's return.

"I am afraid this is not the time, nor the place." Bella's words were reluctantly throaty. Unconsciously, her hand touched her mouth, blessing the sacred lingers. Her other thumbed Cissa's smudged lips back to decency. But they were swollen with their sin.

_This thing is growing like a cancer I must kill._

"Bellatrix, for god's sake what is this?" Furious, Cissa's hands indicated between the two of them. She blazed and confused and didn't quite know what to feel. Bella's teeter-totter ways weren't helping.

_I refuse to believe this is a child  
>And yet guilt is great on my shoulders tonight<em>

"We have to go, Cissy," It was too soon. The teenager was still a tail-end child. Explanation would only lead to action. No…waiting was prudent.

Narcissa's eyes angered and her steps stalked upon sister. Bellatrix was quite literally thrown off balance, as the blonde reversed their positions and shoved her against mirror, which rattled. Had it been anyone else, they would have been Crucio-ed and begging, bleeding on floor. But as this was Cissa, Bella tempered her murderous reflexes… but she was not amused at the universe's humor.

_'__Fine then. So not a child." _Bellatrix revised her assessment. "_But still too young.'_

Narcissa pondered her stupidity as Bella's wand hand twitched. But since she still retained her limbs and stance, the witch figured she didn't have much else to loose. She brought lips to Bella's once more and they grazed in the softest of kisses, nothing more than a brush. She whispered.

"But what _are_ we, Bella?"

Bellatrix's face softened and hand caressed Cissa's jaw. She supposed her sister's rash actions deserved some sort of answer.

"We are Blacks." The kiss was salacious. "Sisters."

Narcissa scowled onto lips. Bellatrix's eyebrow rose.

"Us, Cissy, we are merely us." It would have to do.

Frustration met her darks, but Bella found acceptance there too. She pressed face against Cissa's and kissed the corner of her mouth.

"Hold out, if you can," she murmured and kissed there again. "Hold out, Cissa-mine." Bella threaded their arms and swept them out the room, leaving uncertainties behind them.

"Now come. I believe your debut is overdue." The grand staircase came into view, as did a relieved Andromeda who signaled the announcer.

**_Ladies and Gentlemen: Heir Lady Black, Bellatrix Lucretia Belvina presents: Lady Black, Narcissa Charis Callidora._**

"I swear if you let me trip, Bellatrix, I'm taking you down with me."

"Temper, temper, Narcissa. How ladylike," was the whisper, amused.

Bellatrix led the blonde in descent, down the swirling staircase. Their pairing elicited envious and disapproving stares from the crowd gathered far below. She relished. As they rounded the twisting bend, Narcissa took advantage of the curve and leaned into her sister's ear.

"I'm no lady. I'm a Black. And this Black knows Maman forgot to nix the fruit imports. I swear to Salazar Slytherin and all his whores, Bellatrix. I don't care how beautiful you look tonight. If you trip me, I'll show you exactly what a Black does with grapes."

Bellatrix shivered at the icy tone. It appeared her sister had found herself once again.

A slow and anticipating grin spread across angular features. _'Shaping up to be a night to remember,'_ Bella anticipated. After all, not only had Cissa called her beautiful, but they had at least three more landings to descend. _'Plenty of tripping time yet.'_

Bella would worry about the grapes later.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note II: <strong>_Meat pie homage was unavoidable. For those of you who are visual, see my tumblr account under the same name for their gown headcannon _(tags: MWR + headcannon). _As always, R & R. *Throws grapes*  
><em>

**Translation:  
><strong>- _Débutante_ (French) – Literally, "Female beginning." A young lady from an aristocratic or upper class family who has reached the age of maturity and is introduced to society at a formal presentation.  
>- <em>Hors d'oeuvres or <em>_hors d'œuvre_ (French) – Literally, "Apart from the [main] work." First course served before the main courses of a meal. Usually smaller and often meant to be eaten by hand.  
><em>- Tante <em>(French) – Aunt.

(Credits: Ellie Goulding – _Lights_, _Frozen_ – Let it Go, _Gregory Maguire_ – Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West, _James Cameron_ - Titanic (1997), _Kendall Payne_ – It's Not the Time, _Kleinfeld Bridal_ – Say Yes to the Dress, _Pink_ – Sober, _Shakira_ – Underneath Your Clothes, _Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street_, _Sylvia Plath_ – The Bell Jar, _Tegan & Sara_ – Come On, _The Who_ – Baba O'Reily)


	16. Dec 31, 1968 III: Greys

**Author's Note I: **We are now back to the original flashback timeline: Dec 31, 1968.

* * *

><p><em>Previously:<em>

_"He ra—"_

_"Yes." In numbed states, her sister dealt best with straight facts._

_"And you let him. Vowed. For me."_

* * *

><p>"Yes." Bellatrix decided the revelation of the Dark Lord and the third deed could wait for now. However, the trembling blonde in her arms could not.<p>

_[Minerva cursed something bloody awful as the timeline righted itself and the other memory unpaused. She found herself dumped back upon Bella's infernal bed, back to the nightmare she'd left. 'Bellatrix Black, it's your bloody fault I hate December.' And McGonagall did. She detested the holiday bruises that painted her protégé's form. She hated her inability to prove the abuse. And she bloody well hated Dumbledore's cheery and annual attempts to start an inter-house Olympics. From the looks of Narcissa still huddled in Bella's frame, the blonde didn't think too much of the blasted month either.] _

Bellatrix watched the afterglow of setting suns. She alternated between the one outside her window, sinking behind moors, and the one tucked under her chin, sunken in embrace. From the dying orange against the trees, Bella surmised that several candlemarks had passed this way. Cissy's trembling had finally stopped, perhaps a half candlemark ago. Bella might have thought her asleep if not for skies that remained opened and unseeing. They did not speak. Everything had already been given, words already said. Nothing else to do, but wait out the primary feelings. Bellatrix was practiced in this. The forced years of experience had taught the art of compartmentalization. To an extent, she still viewed submission to her father as a choice, her choice to protect her sisters, to protect Narcissa. Cygnus was a great thief, but he could not steal her motivation. Control was her gold and Cissy was her sun. It was beacon in the dusk, tempting and close.

_Leave me out with the waste and the filth that accrues  
>It's the wrong time to be thinking of you<br>It's a small crime? But she's pulling me through  
>Is that alright? It's not alright and I've got no excuse<em>

_'__Control.'_ Bella reminded, but blood scowled. She painted herself a pillar of flames, rising into flight. It had not been like this with Andromeda. With Cissy, the darkness compelled consumption, possession. A bird that sat perched in soul, eyeing prey and open air with untimely tenderness.

_It's something I've become  
>This terrible weakness in my nature, in my blood<br>Save me, oh save me, save me from myself  
>Before I hurt somebody else again<em>

Bella smoothed flaxen hair, ignoring herself. At the window, they looked to the western sky and swallowed back into night. Cissa's hair fell hot through her fingers like molten clouds. If the sun was fluxing, Bella didn't want to be the one to melt it. Time passed. Another candlemark. Another. Cissa had been quiet too long. Bellatrix didn't need bloodbond to know the misplaced guilt that wracked her soul, stinging through and through on repeat. She rifled for remedy, not wanting to spend the rest of her nights with the light on. Despite the cherished position in Bella's arms, Narcissa was scraped and hollowed, a gourd lantern for old-time hangings. Anxiety crept like the worst of parasites: had she never been born, none of this would have happened. Hidden in Bella's nightstand, fleeting thoughts of athamé crossed Cissa's horrified and approving mind (much like the dying day that slashed her wrists).

_'__When guilt is my constant, then lay the blame on me.' _

As her darkest thoughts swamp walked, their bloodrite scream ancient warning, detecting threat unto itself. Bella had onerous notion that precipitous Cissa contemplated spilling blood. More words needed saying, now_, _before her sister was tragedy and killed parts of them both. The dark witch was afire and clutched at Narcissa's wrist. The thought of loosing Cissy ate her stomach raw and she'd vowed to kill every last thing first (future days proved this). Bellatrix shifted from their embrace, gentle arm still clasped around the witch's waist. Gravely, she tried, but the blonde would not allow eyes to be found, refusing to keep her head up level. Bella was uncommonly softhearted with next words, keeping tone she reserved for Cissa and Cissa alone.

"Don't think for a second, that I fault you. This crime is not yours." Bella traced their hands on the windowpane, painting early stars.

Narcissa lacked in response and looked at anything but her sister, thoughts drifting wayward. Inklings of doubt persisted. But Bella's words had drilled a small progress and the beginnings of relief trickled through Cissa's walls. The blonde kept her quiet and Bellatrix resolved to switch tactics — the ice witch did best with concrete.

"You're feeling like a criminal, but you haven't sinned against." Emphasis brushed Cissa's cheek. Sarcasm then seeped, hints of amusement creeping in. "I'm Bellatrix Black, cold-hard _bitch_, witch extraordinaire. And I only speak the truth."

Words pierced armor and a small quirk twitched rosy lips. Faintly in Bella's mind, _'Andy never laughed. Cissy, you always do.'_ Without warning, the _DarkLights _stirred grand diamonds. Face still averted, Cissa didn't see. But Bella's neck tilted in roll, eyes fluttering as attraction became gravity. It was nothing new. She figured herself the undiscovered moon to the sun. As Bellatrix flew in space, the witch felt the pull and resisted, digging craters. Lashes fluttered, lashing.

_I saved up all my sunshine just to see you more clear  
>I'm a little short on solar, but I haven't given in<em>

The violet doors opened, expecting the scene to have changed. It hadn't. Bella still propped against the window wall. Her arms still looped around slim waist, warmed beneath her touch. Narcissa remained hidden behind a lemon frost curtain, hint of a smile playing upon her mouth. And Bellatrix became victim to her own voice as it offered involuntary and stellar innuendos.

"You know I would give you _anything_. I would give you _everything_."

Bellatrix meant it (personal entendre aside) — there was nothing she wouldn't do for her sister. But Narcissa's response was unexpected, an initiated first for the blonde. She looked up, eyes sending up shooting stars and comets.

_[Minerva had never seen the ice facade so thin. While the last memory had shown inklings of desire, confusion had been the blonde's prominent actress. But now a year later, she clearly invited Bellatrix to skate along spidering cracks, hoping for the break and fall. It was an uncomfortable realization for the professor: those starry eyes were not victim to Bella's whims. Oh no. Professor McGonagall was well aware that Narcissa was as much a player in their danger game as was her sister. She however wasn't sure if that made things better…or far worse.]_

"It's the _everything_ I want." Cissa's stars made clear, wanting more than loyalty.

Bella's eyebrow rose. It wasn't _quite_ how she had meant words to be taken, but leave it to the witch to pick the most inopportune time to bring _that_ up. Cissy's guilt hadn't been forgotten, simply pushed to the wayside in lieu of a never fading heart. The ball…the conversation in the Hogwarts courtyard, these things were never far from Narcissa's mind. After the débutante ball, Bellatrix had flipped a switch and left Cissa in winter once again. She had refused to speak of, or rekindle their taboo. Many a near miss or dark touch had lingered, but Bella had fought the daily demon she harbored. Ironically in the fray, Cissa's shyness had traded for aggression — now it was she in pursuit. But Bella would collar the little victories given to her; she was glad the woman's guilt was mitigated, if only for now. (Mind you, once out of Cissa's sight, that didn't stop Bellatrix from moving the dagger to a new home, far away from sun she loved so.) Guilt temporarily assuaged, it did force the witch into dealing with the other uncomfortable issue of now. Not that Bella minded the uncomfortable — quite the opposite, she enjoyed evoking that in others. But this was comfortable and there was danger to be had in that.

"Cissa…" Bellatrix's voice took on precarious attributes.

Narcissa took no heed and plowed ahead. "I'm not Meda, Bella. We could be different."

Furious, at her sister for stripping old hurts naked and vital, Bellatrix longed to punish and the urge to maim wailed loudly. Before she regretted her actions, Bella physically made to remove arms from Cissa's waist, to push her to safety. But the lithe witch was quicker — a delicate grip held Bellatrix in place. Despite the fury, Bellatrix wondered just how much her sister knew. It's not as if she and Meda had hidden it from the child (it would have been a moot point with their sister bond). Not that this actually mattered; their flower child had been concrete until teenage years. Still, they had attempted at discreet; it wasn't a thing discussed with their younger.

"Don't." Narcissa snapped, even as Bella's eyes emptied of kindness and face was as sharpened steel.

Bella's quiet rages were the most hazardous kind. Volatile. They both knew she could easily escape, hurt Cissa if desired; their position was merely a facade. But the blonde made her point, even if an unwise move. Tornados galed, crackling magic in the room. Bellatrix's enmity fueled, having found a blood battle she couldn't win — Cissa had always enjoyed storms, unlike noble Andromeda, who would've rather banished Bella's darks to the abyss of Hell. Despite loss of the situation, the black witch smiled strange triumph.

_Dig a hole to bleed, a soul to feed  
>Throw your stones and bruise my bone<br>Your chains and whips excite me_

"You walk a fine and stupid line, sister. Do not think to push me. And don't play with fire unless you want to burn. Your memory fails you…as we've had this _conversation_ before. I do not wish to have it again." Bellatrix reminded her all this, whipping words.

And they had, though never frankly, of course. Bella's normal candor had always traded for subtlety regarding the matter of their incestual notions. At the ball she'd sidestepped it, telling the witch to hold out. The courtyard conversation had perhaps been the bluntest of those times, and that wasn't saying much. It had only been fueled by Narcissa's jealousy, not the actual feelings at heart. The sun flared and the ice queen sneered at her sister, sharp nails digging into Bella's hand. Full lips curved diabolical as winter hearth bared and pleasurable stings tickled her hackles — as firestarter, only Bella could kindle this spark.

_'__In this stage I can't be hurt, I know exactly how you work. I'm the flame and I can't get burnt.' _But still somewhat angered (or perhaps just obstinate) Bellatrix wrenched her arm from Cissa. She observed the broken half moons that began to seep red. Mouth darted tongue, lapping up blood beads from inside a wrist. Narcissa bit her lip at the appealing sight. Red lips pulled away from feast. Narcissa had a mind to kiss them. Bellatrix knew.

"I won't have you singed, not one bit," Bella rasped. "Do you understand me?" She licked her lips clean, humming as tastebuds salivated for her own copper.

"You fool, you think I'm not burning already?" Narcissa laughed coldly. "I've been afire so _fucking_ long that I've charred filthy Black." She caught her sister's wrist again, albeit this time with grace and both hands.

"_Really_ Cissy, who knew you had such _language_ in your prissy arsenal?" Bellatrix mocked, but enjoyed the dirty from her sister's mouth.

Lust rolled when rosy lips chose to ignore her words, instead planting a chaste kiss upon nail cuts. Their eyes latched as Cissa's lips lingered, savoring metallic tangs. Bellatrix growled as hands were brought to the blonde's heart, cooking against skin. Cissa's loosened bodice gave way to creamy flesh and peeking curves. Their hands breathed as Cissa did, fast beats jumping between their fingers. Narcissa was blunt.

"You think I don't see you with the others?" The blonde bit acidity, mixed with understanding. She well knew her sister's coping mechanisms required cunt and the occasional cock. "But you've been purposefully cruel this past year."

Cissy pulled at their bond. _'Do you remember the way that you touched me before? All the trembling sweetness I loved and adored?' _Flashes accosted Bella's mind._ Shy smiles cast her way. Splashing in the ravine on a summer's noon. Scarlet dress dashing after her with laughing grapes of retaliation. Then…aching void. Biting words and breaking skies. A nighttime blonde in a dungeon common room, alone. Another shattered sun in discovery…of trysts thrusting up Bella's skirt._

"You've burned me." Cissa whispered agony.

And Bellatrix cursed her disease, the dank inside: the sick that never stayed in remission. Half of it was to erase his hands. But the other half was hers and hers alone. It twisted and sprung roots, stained every one of her good days. She had kept Cissa at arm's length for years, flat out ignored her, dabbled with Meda before her, been callous and cruel, sated her lust in other holes and with other poles. But the light still raged and poured sunny in Bella's mouth — a bright spot in life she couldn't scrub out, not for lack of trying. She felt a wretched heartbeat race in grief, ardor under her hand. And all she could see was moonlit skin and calling stars. Basement emotions raced upstairs, busting the last of lingering locks. She tried not to imagine pert and rosy nipples under a prim gown. She tried she tried she tried, she failed not to think of how Cissa would moan raw and taste forbidden in her mouth. She tried not to love but did. Everything deafened — the only sound heard was hearts pumping the same glorious beat.

_Domino motion, jump-starts when we touch  
>The Blackout approaches<br>Here it comes now  
>Wish me luck<em>

_'__Screw it. Screw it all. I'm Bellatrix Black and I take what I want.' _Resistance. All year. But in this moment it had become a pointless game of denial (Cissa crawled into her web willingly). And Bella was not one to resist, not when her charge capitulated so freely. Blood boiled over pot, frothing in spits and dissolving her cellar resolve. Years of toying around their attraction had brought them to acme. Never more Black, Bella threw away caution and rule, and made them meal from nightfall. Twilight had knit into the blackest of blankets, covering the hills and morality with new mantras. They had not bothered to light the room. The dauntless eve was control. In darkened room, their eyes were pinpricks uncaged and raged. There were caveats to clarify, but first, her blood demanded small touch. Narcissa was the more vulnerable of the two, bodice half unlaced, hands still upon twanging heart. Idly, Bella's fingers stroked the heated flesh, conjuring goosebumps in their tracing path. Cissa's hands clutched at her sister's, afraid that touch was fantasy. Reinforcing her damning decision, Bella drew Cissa's waist again, pulling her and reality near. The blonde let out the smallest of breathy sounds and Bellatrix tried not to recognize it as the sound of coming home. They needed a pause, so Narcissa was non sequitur.

"You never opened it did you?" Cissa whispered unaccusingly, gentle sea-foam.

For seconds Bella was lost and then remembered a far away breakfast, when the morning had been innocent and she'd stashed the gift in her robes. Narcissa was silent and crept into the various pockets of Bella's tattered dress, playing seek until it hid no more. Box in hand, she offered it to Bella.

"Open it for me," the dark witch returned. "I'd rather watch your face."

Narcissa blushed, unsure how to handle such statement. But she did open it, pulling ribbon undone and curtailing the urge to fold the discarded wrappings. She hinged the box and bit her lip. One did not buy Bellatrix jewelry. In the pitch, the gift glinted.

"Now, Bella, I know you detes—"

"Shut up." Bellatrix had no words. No one but sisters ever presented her with presents. And it had become a rare practice in their teenage years. (Hard to buy for witches who could easily buy for themselves.) The necklace was iconic, to say the least. A dragon hide cord boasted a solid pendant: a raven's skull cast in silver. It was beautifully crafted — too chunky to hide and too bold to offer good tidings. Her finger stroked the exquisite piece, eyes fluttering when its power seeped into flesh. "You—

"Charmed it. It's a perpetual and untimed portkey." Cissa preened at her casting skill, as it had been no easy feat. "I'm never more than a trip away. It's keyed specifically to your intent and magic. You need only think and you're there."

Bellatrix kept her silence, still fingering silver. Cissa babbled out her discomfort.

"You gave me…power." Briefly, Narcissa caressed the stone in her cleavage. "And I…I wanted to return the favor. I was in Knockturn, I know I'm not supposed to be in Knockturn, but I was and it was and—"

"You're a phenomenal creature." Bellatrix understood Cissa's intent. Their entire lives lived trapped by whims not their own. This was nearly freedom. Means of escape. Home wherever the other roamed.

She eyed Narcissa's shy face and trembling hands, wondering just when this had become her weakness. Bellatrix lifted her curls, daring the girl to put it on. Relieved and befuddled, Cissa obliged, breath shaking as she leaned in to clasp it shut. Their cheeks brushed. The blonde fiddled with the pendant, as it came to rest above Bella's breasts. Narcissa felt the tension and tried not to bite her lip to split. Those teeth. And Bella wanted she wanted she wanted. So she cupped the woman's face and tipped their foreheads together. They held there for a time, needing silence to recenter. Bellatrix let night come darker. Her birthday was waning and Cissa's waxing — the sky told wee hours. Eighteen years was enough (for most things). Her hands wandered, lips grazing the witch's jaw, deciding to let action course as it would. Even if his invading hands weren't far enough away, most of her physical injuries had been healed by clever wand. And the other hurts had always found Narcissa to be panacea. The new year had begun and Bella wouldn't let Cygnus tarnish her good moments, not when the silver at her neck reminded that shine could still be found.

"Happy Birthday," Bellatrix murmured in ear, throaty and gift in itself. "Forgive me if my present isn't as traditional. I had planned to take you to that potions shop you so love. And we'll go. But somehow I think you'd rather brew this instead."

Cissa flushed, her own hands unsure. One paralleled Bella's arm about waist, the other grasped her own thigh in indecision. At the woman's inexperience, Bella held back a chuckle, but not a knowing smirk — the dark hid this well. It was testament to Bella's control that she didn't ravish the girl without preamble (She did rather enjoy virgins and their untouched lust). But Cissa was different. Cissy was hers. Their eyes adjusted to the gloom. Bella saw golden locks first, plaited and shining through the dim. Deliberately, she unbraided, letting them spill. (Her sister had spent far too many years constrained.) The witch traced collarbones, enjoying their sharp shadows. Eyes lidded. The witch was wearing far too much. She slipped material down, baring Cissa's shoulder in the slowest of motions. Her fingers dug, relishing flesh. Teeth nipped softly. Too much time had passed for a strictly gentle exploration. For Narcissa, it was a new slow, a painful torture of pleasures. This dark goddess knew exactly how to push lust.

"What are you doing?" The blonde whispered worry. "He just r— hurt you." Cissa couldn't say it again. She shifted away, kissing knuckles, protecting. Not wanting anything to further stain her favorite sister. She hated him. She wanted him dead and spitted and rotting for the crows.

Paused, Bella was quiet, violently kissing her forehead. Adamant. Promising. Flattered at the chivalry coursing her witch's blood.

"And you're helping." She pulled the woman to her again, needing this.

Despite reservations, Narcissa relished the curve of witch against her. Wild curls tickled her neck and a fiery tongue lazily licked upward. Nips alternated with cruelly stroking fingers.

"Bella." Cissa tried again.

"Hush. I'm fine." She wasn't. But Bella kissed fingertips, needing them to move away from discussion of her psyche. She drew one into mouth and was drunk on the resulting gasp. This sound made them real. Abruptly everything stopped. She figured it a good time as any to speak of caveats. "Does he touch you like _this_, your Malfoy?" Bella's voice was carefully sweet and disdained velvet seduction into a flushed ear. Despite her own meaningless infidelities and the immense torment they caused her sister, they both knew the boy held a strange spot in Cissa's heart.

_[The professor was beside herself. 'I swear to Salazar's sack, if the boy's that thick, even Poppy won't be able to save his family jewels when I'm done with him,' Minerva castrated bluntly. The last thing she needed was a pregnant Black child on top of this messy situation. While sentimental Dumbledore might pitch the idea that love conquers all, Minerva would have order. She'd rather avoid the catastrophe of Abraxas Malfoy breathing politics down her neck. After all, it wouldn't do for a Hogwarts governor's son to knock up some girl. And not just any girl: a Black child. It would be political upheaval at its worst. (Even if Master Malfoy was fond of the Starlets.) She focused on these troublesome thoughts, for they were far easier to deal with than her quickened libido. From the bed, Minerva tried to remain unaffected by the erotic scene. But the two were a compelling mix: Bellatrix dark and lusty, Narcissa novel and trusting.]_

Cissa's head swam as arousal hummed, treading and wanting touch again. Wondering at Bella's stability, at her angle. _'She speaks of Lucius…now?!'_ Wildly, she hypothesized sinister motives. But Bella's voice neither accused nor angered. Simply inquired. And one always answered when Bella asked. Narcissa stuttered. (The hot breath upon her neck was distracting.)

"N-no, he doesn't."

Nip kissed under her ear, rewarding. Traveling. And Bella sucked expertly on an earlobe. At a pulse point. Narcissa whimpered and a faint chuckle sounded.

"Why not, dearie, I see how he looks at you." Bella pressed them closer. "It's how I look at you."

The softest kiss to neck, followed by savage teeth. Sucking, tasting, devouring. Narcissa sagged into Bellatrix, thankful the arm around her waist supported her weight. The nipping grew harder and hurt perfectly. She found Bella's back and dug trenches. Sensation rampaged and Cissa let out a throaty moan, her first. Pleased, Bellatrix cackled sweet at the sound.

"Tell me."

"Only you. Only always you."

_'__Ah yes. To caveats then.' _The game had just gotten serious. Bellatrix reluctantly pulled away from a purpling neck, bringing kind touch to her sister's face.

"If you choose to..._pursue_ this with me, know that we work in greys. We are Black, but never black or white. And _you_…are my beautiful grey."

"I don't understand." Brow furrowed at her sister's words.

"You will." Bella offered cryptically.

The blonde frowned as eager lips made to resume their necking position. Cissa's words stopped her.

"I _hate_ when you play enigma. Tell me now, Bellatrix, "

Moonlight from the window glinted off Cissy's eyes, a shiny defiance in night. Bellatrix caressed her cheek (and tempered a rising lust to slap the girl into moan). The hints of sadness behind evening eyes confused Cissa.

"Do you really think our blood, our marriages, our lives…will allow us as we wish?" Bella laid the world out for them. "We will always be pulled in other directions, incidental parts of our hearts with them."

Connotations sank in. Cissa's voice broke, as did her miserable heart.

"This is about McGonagall!"

_[And Minerva's eyes nearly popped out their sockets.]_

Bellatrix surprised at the sudden outburst and the water that dripped angrily from silver circles. Distressed, she brought Cissa's face to her own and drank the tears as they fell. But against that moistened cheek, she answered truthfully.

"You know I have my…outlets." As if this was explanation enough. And perhaps it was: Bella's trysts were well known, she had never pretended otherwise. Bellatrix had demons to oust and wasn't yet ready to lay them at Cissy's feet. Andy may play Quidditch for rush of wind and Cissa may paint for flowered whim. But the darker witch had bones to pick.

"Screw your outlets."

"That is the idea."

Years of upset snapped and Narcissa raged in the arms that held her, thrashing against her sister's chest, in ways she hadn't done since childhood. Bella's injured ribs had been forgotten till now, but even in pain, she refused to release the embrace. Bella's only response was to hold the anguished and flailing girl closer. She winced at several well-aimed hits until the girl finally spent herself and collapsed against Bella, hiccupping in shakes.

_I'm not a stranger  
>No I am yours<br>With crippled anger  
>And tears that still drip sore<em>

_'__They ought to name us Déjà vu. We always end up like this, me and you.' _In her arms, Cissy evoked tenderness. However, the moment itself rendered Bellatrix hard and lusting — she wanted her sister's anger, those undisclosed demons. She didn't want to reconcile the violence in her heart. It had always been a point of contention between Andy and Bella, her darks. It was Narcissa's suns Bella loved and craved; they lit her night. But she needed to know that the sun would survive the eclipse. She baited the girl.

"Oh _please_ me, show me how it's done," Bella cut sarcastically, holding the witch too tightly. "Do you feel better now, stupid child?!" She fueled cruels. "Rather idiotic of you, to heal my rape and then attempt to beat me." Bellatrix cackled into the night and waited for either the dying sun or the raging light.

Cissa didn't disappoint, she raged. She screamed into the tightening embrace and clawed at the hands that bruised her in hold. Guilt and anger dueled, culminating childishly as she sank teeth into Bella's neck, a whirlwind of hatred that quickly turned lusting. Skin broke and blood passed her lips. Bella's short happy laugh punched her, and the blonde moaned horrified ecstasy. With a snarl and fistful of golden hair, Bellatrix wrenched Cissa from her bloodied neck.

"You can fuel your goddamn fury all you want, Starling, but you'll never match my own." She lusted. The girl was exquisite in anger.

Despite dark words, inside Bellatrix leapt through starlit fields in merry dance — Cissy had proven able to wade through the night. She gripped Cissa's jaw too firmly and licked drips from chin, savoring the blood and trembles gathered there. A special quiver from the blonde as she stroked her face. (Cissa flinched in strange want.) Bellatrix chuckled surprise and satisfaction, noting routes for future exploration.

"Little closet masochist," Bella whispered sympathetically against chin. "I won't reward you after _that _stunt. Not tonight," she murmured. "Not tonight," promising the girl their own pace.

Unclear, but Cissa trembled at hinted promise. Bellatrix moved them along (and filed away this delight for another time).

"You've rather a talent for digression you know. Where were we? Ah yes, you _bit_ me because you'd rather masquerade as a _prude _than acknowledge your own desires." Her tone teased, but severity was its truth.

"Bellatrix!" Narcissa took major offence and hissed in her face.

"Don't spout off at me! Not my fault you play hypocrite. I've seen you on occasion look at Meda as you look at me. Tell me, Cissa, were she to come to you with honey and lust…would you truly refuse?"

Silence was her answer.

"I thought as much." Bellatrix stroked the witch's face, understanding. Reminding, "It's the blood. We crave it. Would you begrudge me the same, even if it's McGonagall?" Considering her sister's conflicted eyes, she ventured slyly, "Would you begrudge yourself?" Bella tilted her head, needing this from Cissa. She would never stray from the blonde, not in a traditional sense. But the younger witch had to understand their wills weren't completely their own in this. Just as Narcissa had periods of ice, Bella had fire. And fire was thirsty. And she refused to subject Cissa to…to that as long as she could hold out. (Meaningless holes were her current and preferred method of exorcism.) "I want you happy. And if that means indulging your bloodcalls from time to time I will. Please don't make me hate my own."

Narcissa cuddled her secrets one last time, too gone in Bella to hide.

"I know you need her. I feel…you know I'm fond of her too." Her voice was low, as if volume would make it less true.

"I know. Despite your dislike of the fact." Bellatrix held her and the revelation close as the blonde trembled the affection against her. Had the chit not been so agonized, Bella would have smiled at the girl, finally loving someone a different color than Black. "Silly mutual thing." She wanted to kiss the girl senseless. "After all this time, did you really think my mentor wouldn't love you in your own right?" Lullaby hands rocked the witch. And from the held breath, Bellatrix realized the girl hadn't thought this a possibility. "Oh Cissa," She whispered. It had been jealousy…on so many fronts. So many fucking fronts.

"She's your mentor." The blonde was barely sound.

"She's my…" family, Bella wanted to say. "She's yours too." The Slytherin waggled their bond and flooded testimony for the girl. _Green eyes twinkling at first-year blues in the Great Hall, as Cissa's tripping feet magically avoided dumping hot tea down Bella's dress. Chocolate frogs on the girl's pillow after a particularly horrid day in class. (One that included a rampant and transfigured desk monster.) Bella watching the watchful tabby on castle gates, when the blonde had night-snuck to her favorite tree, to hug and cry. Owl sent to a bawdy pub on Andromeda's birthday, signaling that the blonde was in good hands. Gifted book on the professor's desk, displaying anonymous card with curling letters, art she knew was Cissa's formal script. The small and floppy kitten the protégé had picked up from the professor's office before break, with vague instructions of finding the stray a home. (They both knew it had been especially picked for the girl, the thing was too fluffy not to be.) _"Which reminds me, I have a gift waiting in the nursery for you."

Narcissa stilled, uncomprehending at all of it. She faintly nodded and Bella understood they needed to table much of that for now. So the witch stroked the girl's hair, prepared to move on but—

"Affection, fine. But I don't understand why…attraction is mixed in there. It's dangerous." Cissa buried this in the crook of Bella's neck, clinging terror at the admission. "Her, and I could almost…but the others hurt, Bella. I feel when you…and it hurts and I—"

_[Minerva couldn't…she couldn't. These witches who adored her and each other so oddly. In the night light, her younger student was moon-streaked with emotion. From the bed she agonized and knew Narcissa would always pull at her heart. There was winter affection there, much like the Gryffindor had always loved trees creaking under the pretty weight of snow. She enjoyed the clipped snowflakes Cissa had brought to Hogwarts…sparkling and cold.]_

"I know." Bellatrix felt the burden add to her soul and indelibly anguished, knowing she inadvertently hurt the gentle witch with her…trysts. Catch-22 and Bella couldn't win — Narcissa would be hurt either way. Still, she had been waiting years for her sister to acknowledge the McGonagall issue. Bella had always suspected the jealously had been two-fold on the blonde's part. The girl really didn't handle outside affection well. Cissa's tears still ran. Bella felt them drip upon her neck, washing it clean. "Minerva is Minerva." She was outside definition, this strange family they'd gained. "As for the others…just because I dabble in shitty books, doesn't mean they have meaning. Your calligraphy has always bested. We were meant to tangle, Narcissa Black, and I will _always_ need your story." Her hands melted in gold and mouth mouthed the strands, drafting constellations. "Mine is empty without."

Though tears still streamed down her neck, Bella felt lips trembling there too, apologizing and dying and living. The softest of kisses placed there in the salty river patch. And whisper came.

"Always?"

Bellatrix pulled the girl's head up and met shinning eyes. She ran a thumb over quivering lips and wrote as best she could.

"You and me are a forever kind." She husked. "And you're everything." The words were simple enough, but this was devotion. Fidelity. She'd lost her heart to the girl long ago.

Beneath the window and yellow moon, Cissa's silvers found her. Bellatrix waited until they sparkled the necessary grey. She let the witch lead. Shaking hand braved and cupped her corseted curves, tracing lightly, awkward in this first dance. Bella's blood tingled, as did her skin — the woman's purity was arousing. She lifted Narcissa to her, bringing their bodies close. Bella's lips were tantalized and near, the starlight bounced off her angular features. Such beauty and Cissa's heart jumped crazed patters. They could and had exchanged lusting touches, but nothing compared to her sister's mouth. It occurred to Narcissa, that in all the kind and angry touches of this night, and all the fleeting caresses of months past, Bellatrix had only succumbed to that weakness once: last winter at the cotillion ball. After that, it had been a frustrating hell of innuendo and restrained misses. Even now, with opportunity flung open, her witch remained still, waiting for Narcissa's move. Violets flashed. The blonde understood it had to be her decision to cross this line. In her mind, there never was choice…only Bella. Cissa's hand wrapped black curls (tremor around fist) and tugged the dark head forward. Atoms from destination, Cissa whispered final question.

"Yours?"

"Mine." Bella promised in rasp.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note II:<strong> R & R. This scene was originally one chapter, but the muse spiraled and I split it into two. Be on the lookout for Part II. (Credits apply for both Parts I & II - I was in no mood to untangle which went to which.)

(Credits: _Alice Cooper_ – Poison, _A New Found Glory_ – It's Not Your Fault, _Collective Soul_ – Blame, _Damien Rice_ – 9 Crimes, _Disturbed_ – Down With the Sickness, _Dylan Thomas_ – Do not go gentle into that good night, _Fiona Apple_ – Criminal, _Hozier_ – Take me to Church, _Imogen Heap_ – Glittering Cloud, _Jason Mraz_ – The Remedy, _J. K. Rowling_ – Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, _Kanye West_ – Monster, _Lady GaGa_ – Marry the Night, _Matchbox Twenty_ – Busted and Disease, _Moulin Rouge_ – Hindi Sad Diamonds, _Muse_ – Undisclosed Desires, _Natalie Merchant_ – My Skin, _Plumb_ – Cut, _Rihanna_ – S&M, _Tegan and Sara_ – Clever Meals, Superstar, This is Everything, _Wicked the Musical_ – Defying Gravity.)


	17. Dec 31, 1968 IV: Soleil

**Author's Note I: **Entire story disclaimer still applies. This is the racy conclusion to the Dec. 1968 memories at Manor Noir. Citrus thanks to the lovely _Zarrene Moss_, who's kept my winter muse on point this past month. And as always, a ridiculously fond thanks to _beforeyouspeak, _who is the best kind of mind and heart. Thank you for putting up with my selves.

* * *

><p><em>Previously:<em>

_The blonde understood it had to be her decision to cross the line. In her mind, there never was choice…only Bella. Cissa's hand wrapped black curls with tremor around fist and tugged the dark head forward. Atoms from destination, Cissa whispered final question._

_"__Yours?"_

_ "__Mine." Bella promised in rasp._

* * *

><p>Narcissa ignored nerves and closed the short distance between. No longer a soldier to emptiness, resounding ache took over. Petal lips trembled and brushed Bella's lightly. Their bond erupted and blood recognized its own. The witch gasped at its intensity. Bella took advantage of parted lips and languidly sucked bottom lip into stove mouth. Cissa's head tilted as Bellatrix moved down her jaw, tasting the last remnants of blood. Shrouded in the absence of light, the eldest sister appeared the very goddess of pitch things, shaded and dark. In the blackout, hungry mouth found Cissa's and consumed it. <em>'The darkness, the sweetness, the sadness, the weakness. I need this.' <em>She welcomed the black soul.

_That looks tasty  
>That looks plenty<br>This is hungry work_

Clever nip pierced their kiss. Blood. Her own. Payback. Bella let out low rumble, erotic as moor thunder. No matter the sin, Cissa resolved right then and there to forever marry the night. Bellatrix enjoyed the eager lips upon her own. She approved throatily and the hands in Cissa's hair turned tangles.

_'__Sun.'_ She tasted positively nuclear.

They kissed, furious gentles upon the windowsill. It was decidedly unclear if the moment was moon-wisped or tangible. Nature took over. In the tussle, despite her dress, Cissy's legs wrapped around Bella's waist. Straddling. It was less sexual positioning and more so a need to chase away the lonely. But it roused. Bellatrix felt nothing of her protesting ribs as her hands proposed her sister's back and hips. If anything, the twinges only intensified the moment. The winds catcalled on the moor and the wild dogs howled satisfaction. The blonde clung to the witch, impenitent and fierce. Biting caresses told Bella what Cissa's words could not — mementos of anger and fear. But stronger was the sense that their bond solidified and loved. Mouths finally broke as the need for air prevailed. Swollen lips pressed, virgin against Bella's faintly bruised jaw, pecking the dawdles of yellowed flesh. The embrace ended naturally and shy eyes sought the witch's regard, bewildered by her own responses. Despite her ribs, Bellatrix chuckled softly as the inexperienced girl faltered. Blue skies widened, unsure what to do with the prize now won. They remained there, Cissa atop her sister, forehead-to-forehead and breathing heavily. Bella's lips hovering and skipping stones.

_[Flesh-grilled, Minerva's breath labored awfully and cursed her protégé for putting them through this rivered agony. She was glad for the solid bed, as the exchange triggered her own memory of Black lips. The professor purred accidentally. And from across the barrier of reality, she swore familiar teeth captured her neck in familial possession. "Bellatrix," she whispered, unclear on tips and tosses of the world.]_

Ingénue hands crept up the goddess' face, trying to build those angles into her bones. It was several moments before Bellatrix realized the witch cried silently (perhaps from sheer emotion or the burden of recent events). Aroused or not, Bella's chest twinged painfully as she thumbed a tragic cheek with lullaby. Blowing gentles to feed the little sun, and keep it from going out.

"Hush hush, Narci-girl."

Sound choked out of Narcissa — that insufferably lovely name, not used since Bella had gone off to Hogwarts, when the witch's lilting grin was still an easy thing. Cissa shook her thoughts and posited, more than queried.

"Where do we go from here." Next week they would return to school. A return both anticipated and dreaded simultaneously. Despite the horrors it brought, Manor Noir allowed skewed freedom. (Cissa had no need to sneak into her sister's dormitory here.)

"Does it matter where we go?" Bellatrix whispered into another kiss. Lips savored.

"Not if it's with you," Cissa murmured.

Oddly touched by this sentiment, Bellatrix let their noses brush. A wash of renewed arousal poured buckets over head and Bella was very aware of her sister's chest — their frantic exchange on the window seat had only served to loosen Cissa's bodice further. She nuzzled the girl's neck, enjoying the view. The tops of pale breasts spilled out and blonde breath tightened as she followed the path of blackened eyes. A hand walked up her torso, smoothly turning to caress. Bellatrix watched in satisfaction as Narcissa's eyes grew round and blown.

"You've no idea, have you," Bella rasped, "how many times I've wanted you like this."

Cissa opened her mouth to ask _like_ _what_, when Bella's hand traced the outer curve of breast through bodice, painting troth. The blonde whimpered at the touch and flushed at the novelty, even if a bit unclear on trajectory and concept. Pleased, Bellatrix smiled. Several more times she did this and Narcissa began to hate things that resembled clothing. Everything constricted, overly warm. She wanted to ask for _more_, but the physical aspect of their relationship was new. And she new at it. Her sister was (to put it nicely) _experienced_. And what was Narcissa but the golden sun of Slytherin. Cold. Naïve. Confused. And utterly out of realm. She doubted she owned anything that could satisfy the darker girl. Insecurities tumbled, even as Bella switched sides, repeating the same kind torture. Thin whimpers fall from Cissa's lips, peppered with steady mews and constant trebles.

"Bella, p-please." Tone tripped, discovering. Entreating.

The witch relished her name from the nival lips. And this particular moan intrigued. She had a fair idea, even if her witch did not. Bella leaned in and nipped at the delicate clavicle, traveling boned roads. Knowing tongue sledded down the slop of cleavage. Against her mouth, hot heartbeat trembled the valley.

"Please _what_?" Bella waited for the heavens to speak.

Narcissa flushed and scowled frustration and shame; this classroom an unfrequented one. Golden curls shied, looked down. Charmed at Cissa's inexperience, Bellatrix took small pity on her. Some. Their blood tasted of chalk as she whispered education into red ear. Blackboard and black bored.

"You know, Narcissa…" The witch's hands pressed between them, paused and practiced. "If you tell me, I might do it."

That idea. That hiss. But still, the specific words failed Cissa. The witch attempted at coalescence and could only nuzzle Bella's cheek. The blonde frowned, upset at her lack of vocabulary — this, a jargon she hadn't studied.

"Touch me, Trixie. Just_ touch_ me," she tried again, not realizing what fell out her roused mouth. Or understanding the essentials of why.

_[Despite the fire-rolled situation, the professor chuckled. How the Bella did hate that nickname — it was testament to her devotion that she didn't hex Cissa. Especially since Minerva regularly assigned detention to Bellatrix for hexing similar offenders. (Sirius puked up slugs often enough, for perpetrating this particular offense.) These thoughts, and Professor McGonagall swore she heard faint chuckles in a far off and overhead distance. She felt the wisps of hands worry her plait, as Bella did on rare and distressed occasions. But McGonagall didn't mind when the immaterial whispers were too weak to be understood. The gist was clear and nervous. Her protégé was rather…looking for approval it seemed. The professor had inclination to snort at Bella's awkward timing, asking her mentor to bless her chosen paramour of sorts. Minerva didn't answer. But she didn't pull away the ghosting hands. And the professor thought the breath of relief snuggled to her shoulder as outright damnation was off the table.]_

At the forbidden and hated moniker, Bellatrix eyed Cissa, sneering distaste. She caught flushed skin between teeth and nipped diatribe into neck…and was rewarded with strangled sounds and legs curling tighter about her waist. Despite their affections, she relished controlling the witch. The bedroom would be no exception. Ink penned grey-blue in place.

"Ah ah ah, that won't do," Bellatrix sing-songed. "You have to _say_ it."

Exposed skin beckoned. Fingers trailed, teasing and tailored. For this witch, Bellatrix could exert self-control until the blessed end of the world. Such was their consecration and curse. She'd make Cissy capitulate first. In many ways, the witch was vulnerable in this control. Needing her counterpart to agree, that yes, Bella belonged. (It would take years for Cissa to _effusively_ understand this nuance.) For her part, Narcissa wobbled between arousal and trepidation. She had a fair idea that this was…somewhat sexual, though the concept seemed unencompassing for their particulars. Mostly, Narcissa just reveled in the oddity that was Bella. This strange and heated closeness. She trusted Bellatrix wouldn't lead where she couldn't follow. Sliding toward lion tendencies, she braved her heart and stuttered response.

"Mouth. Please." She melted and it terrified, this warmth.

Cheeks tomatoed, ripe on vine. The flush spread from ears, down neck, and to the top of bosom. Bellatrix thought it a most alluring attribute; so much so, she fully forgave the nickname slip in lieu of rewarding progress. Holding together fabric, she slowly unlaced the rest of Cissa's bodice, feather lips brushing the witch's with each grommet. The kisses were slow, unhurried. Kind summer zephyrs. Soft and flurried. Bella played timekeeper and the unraveling was unjuried. The blonde teethed her own lip rugged, feeling a queer wetness seep through her knickers. She tried not to squirm, but it felt slick and good. Foreign. Still straddling her sister's waist, she feared Bellatrix would feel it. But backburner was lit, as other knowledge took delicious hold: the only things holding breasts hostage, were hands. But Bella paused.

"My mouth, Cissa?" Bellatrix was far too quiet, hovering carrot and long-term hunger. "My mouth on what?"

Narcissa was positive she resembled an autumn beet, but took the time to appraise her sister's condition — a hard read, but Cissa found sure signs of pleasure. Bella's breath had quickened and had dusted pale cheeks the rose-gold of sunset. Eyes split to dark chasms. The fathoms did Cissa in.

"G-gods above," the blonde apologized to morality, but needed, "…your mouth on my chest." She was too gone to care for propriety. (Too heated to understand _why_ the request made sense.)

There was only time to comprehend the darkened look, which took Bella's features, before hand let loose and bodice flung opportunity open. Compared to buxom Bellatrix, Narcissa wasn't as endowed. But her frame was slender and feminine, curving lines that artists worshiped on parchment. Frantic for their bond, Bella wasted no time immersing hands in newfound territory, mapping claim. The Slytherin thrived, her hands revered creamy breasts tipped with rose. Fingers reveled, all coy and touch. Flicks. Pulls. Friction had the blonde tense in Bella's arms. Patient mouth painted their story on porcelain neck, leaving pleasurable pink in a wake of gallery trembles. Bewitched by the long awaited dawn of inevitabilities, Cissa shook. Hands soothed her, keeping safe. Keeping faith.

_[Minerva surprised at her protégé's gentleness, tinged like morning fog. It was not as tender as another might have been, but for Bellatrix it was the softest air the Night owned. And she spent it on Narcissa.]_

All this time they had remained with Cissa atop her sister, bestridden. Keen on reversal, Bella lowered the blonde onto the upholstered bench, kissing lips all the way down. Curls fell all around, partially cloaking the blonde's breasts. And the witch raised her skirts to climb atop the blonde, taking straddle for her own. Bellatrix memorized down a jaw, a neck, and lingered at a new and favoured spot: Cissa's clavicle. Her mouth made the girl shiver in beautifully tragic ways. Nervous hands took hold of Bella's waist (and betrayed eagerness) as the dark witch kissed down the centerline of Cissy's chest. Splayed atop her witch, Bellatrix paused, coals raking over the woman, breasts bared and eyes flared. She had seen many naked forms before. And yet none compared to the mostly clothed Narcissa. This would always be her church, her heathen woods and alter stable. Lantern light and fairytale.

"_Soleil_, _ma lumière_." Bella's thumb brushed an erect nipple, heart whispering things that only dared speak at night. This shared sorrow and Hecate happiness.

_[The words struck Minerva as a big-bang universe and she pained for the star-crossed lovers, forever meant to crash and burn. She thought ethereal lips trembled into her neck and understood present-Bella was overwhelmed with past firsts.]_

Cissa's soul opened wide as she arched, awed that the witch would offer anything so intimate. Bellatrix felt it happen and did not hesitate to meet her kin in the crux between their hearts, lips sharing space and sweet effects. Narcissa lived in cinnamon eyes and rose up into the touch. Hands tangled in jungle curls and she whispered legends, all exasperation and stars.

"I can't _not_ love you, I can't." Narcissa could have lived their eternity without physicality. But not emotion. "Please don't ask me not to."

The dark heir heard this anxious truth and it warmed to her core. Bellatrix leaned in and whispered to yellow hair, acknowledging their gentle sin. And let the ritual begin.

"I've always loved you, Cissa-mine. Right from the very start." Her face saved promises, whispered like prayers. Feeling brewed. Bellatrix had the notion to manifest it, despite the limit on their physical affections. "Touch yourself." Her face glinted galaxies, spinning wonders. "I want to watch." She revved and soothed sentiments, the weight of her body comforting her skittish sister.

Wide-eye, Narcissa felt Bella's hands guide hers to breasts. At first the witch moved them together, their palms swiping over hardened nipples. Sweet nothings murmured in Cissa's ear and calmed the tenderfoot trembles. Bella manipulated their hands together, pulling stiff peaks, slowly…softly. The sensation of four hands overloaded Cissa's mind — fireworks lit and ignited. Gradually, Bella's hands left, leaving her alone to continue pleasure. Blonde nerves raised; she felt clumsy. But Bella's heightened breath afforded Cissa a newfound and addicting power. It felt good, she realized with some surprise. The blonde liked Bella's eagerness upon her. Liked the breathy sounds she elicited from her quiet sister. Liked, oh…_like that_. Cissa arched into her own hands and Bella's lungs hitched at the tempting sight. The blonde pulled the bond, pulled at her sister, wanting to merge. But this was unchartered land and the blonde was unsure of goal. Only that she felt close to the witch…like everything in their hearts was shown on skin. She resolved to ask at a later date, the meaning of all this hedonism.

"Bella," she pleaded, confusion lacing tone. "I want _you_, I need—"

And the gentles of summer traded for ragged heat sunspots.

Still atop the witch, Bellatrix ferociously tugged open the rest of the bodice, exposing Narcissa from shoulder to navel. A wicked tongue circled belly button and curls splayed across torso, sprouting flares. Bella's mane hid needy mouth and the sharpened teeth that drew pictures there. Hands replaced Cissa's and teased erect nipples into songs of sighs and moans, which could only utter one name over and over. Needing purchase, the blonde took the coarse mane in hand. She tugged. Wanting…just wanting. Curls dragged upward as did a corseted body. The rough fabric scratched skin in the best of ways and Narcissa hissed. At the sound, Bella's hair suddenly flew upward, spilling like river goddess with geodes for eyes. Hands sought bare back and pulled Cissa toward a wanting mouth in wait. Erratic in breath, she squirmed in Bella's grasp. The Night whispered to her, the most serious of cosmos.

"Nothing that touches you will _ever_ compare." Teeth growled on the curve of breast, possession speaking vulnerability.

"They never could," Cissa fervently agreed, writhing as the mouth descended. Lashes fluttered anticipation.

A soft lick swirled and her nipple became rock, lighting pyres and tingles…down there. Hoarsely, Narcissa whispered nonsense and then name.

"B-bella."

Another lick. Another. Bellatrix moaned and brought pebbled flesh to waiting mouth, building cairns and sucking to her lusting and delta content. This was jubilation, the feel of Cissa against her tongue. Narcissa pulled her close and yipped whimpers, fueling their quasi-coupling. Her senses heightened and the meadows held breath. Bella didn't need it, the blood, to understand the girl's state. Gentleness left her and she nipped down.

"Bellatrix!" Narcissa yelled desperately, limbs shaking for dark curls.

Mouth ate the benediction and they were desperate against the other, terror-struck at being apart. These touches in the night approached dangerous territory and Bella's self-contempt brewed in silence, strangling her heart with tongs. Her sister was untouched, newly eighteen with the turn of night. That terrible voice in Bella's mind sounded, reminding realities and twisting fallacies.

_'__And you were much younger.'_

_'__I was forced!'_ Bellatrix hated when mind quarreled itself.

_'__Broomsticks know different.'_

This was true. A first-year grapple in a broom closet had proved…illuminating. Young Bellatrix had been so surprised to commit such an act without the usual violence, that she had wanted to do it again. It made her feel untouchable. That first boy had long since graduated, off to the corrupted ranks of the Ministry or something with the same ring. But after that…well, it was a moot point now. _[Though Minerva would have fervently argued statute. Or that culprit called cause and effect.] _But Cissa remained untouched. More impressively, innocent to the ways of sex and flesh. (Honestly, the witch wasn't sure how she and Andy had managed to retain that for all these years, not with the horrors and teenage hormones of plenty. But they had. Not that the girl hadn't been educated. But she hadn't been _educated_.) This perhaps was Cissa's first foray into sexual awakening, but Bella would ensure their youngest stayed maiden for a while longer — it was imperative. But still her eager mouth found flesh and reveled at the witch's wambles. That internal voice heckled sinfully, lewd and leering.

_'__You're just like him just like him just like him just like him…' _Abruptly horrified, she pulled away and scrambled to the other side of the bench. She was no better than her sire…touching innocents. Bellatrix huddled into a shaking ball, allowing her mind its free and torturous reign. _'__You stupid sadistic abusive fucking whore. Come on, get down with the sickness.' _

Still shivering from arousal, a cool front rushed over Cissa's chest as her sister's weighted warmth left their…conversation. Disturbed at the sudden shift in atmosphere, she sat up to find a pitiful form shuddering in the corner, a far turn from the fury of lust raking her body moments ago.

"Bel-Bel?" She whispered in sharpened disquiet, the toddler name peaking from coffin.

The bundle of robes didn't answer, only whispered to themselves.

"Where did you…go?" The youngest had always wondered.

Listening closely, Cissa picked at their bond, trying to follow the mind-path. Only to be slammed back violently; her sister's magic was most protective, even in distress. The Bella-creature snarled and hissed warning, power snapping tangibly in the room. There was a faint burning scent, like candles smoked out and heaters turned on. Cissa feared a break had finally come. It used to be Andromeda that would clean up Bella's psyche after Cygnus' episodes of abuse. (It's why Cissa had tried to deter the witch earlier. She should have tried harder.) Andy refused to speak of the particulars to the blonde, citing, _"When you're older."_ But each time, Meda returned from Bella's room with disheveled clothes, her aftermath face always a mix of lust and agony, crystallized amber aged in horror. Narcissa understood now. Swollen lips still burned, but her heart minced, feeling Bella's disquiet in the blood, much like sludge and mausoleum offerings. Not bothering to refasten her dress, she made to Bella's side, slowly. The night airbrushed her nipples and she shivered, observing her protector swaddled in some sort of internal shame. Her sister was buried between a set of knocked knees, face obscured by curling mane. Unnerved to see Bellatrix in such a state, the crumpled and forlorn heap overrode any lusting notions. Narcissa chanced a gentle hand in mussed locks and startled when Bella's head snapped up housing deadened eyes.

"Hurt me, Cissa," she sang, rasping. Eyes were crazed, tormented by ruminating thoughts that ran inchoately. _'Crossed the line I smell the massacre the mother fucking monster's here.'_ The overwhelming need to hurt prevailed. Relief would exist for Bellatrix in pain. She pained. "Swear to it, that you'll never let me hurt you. Swear it." The maddened witch grasped Cissa's hand and closed it over her own neck, making them choke her. Together. Bella's vision greyed wonderfully and she basked in that encroaching feeling of non-existence. If self-deprecation were to be her twin, at least she'd enjoy its twining gallows. _'They say that promises sweeten the blow. Oh, I need this, oh, I need this.' _

Unfortunately, Cissa's shrill terror forced her consciousness back to full.

"**BELLATRIX**! You bloody mad? Please, Bella, s-stop it."

But Bella's hand tightened. And let the bond leak. So…

"Oh good fucking god, I promise." Cissa's voice was rushed and weathered. "Just stop it stop it stop it!" Horrified, she knew exactly what the witch felt, this sudden disease wrestling sanity and fear. Like sand shovel rapes and summer sunshine presiding over murder.

Viciously, Narcissa struggled to free their hands from Bella's throat, but her witch was strong, black, and baleful. She recalled roughhouse fights in their childhood, but this was awful parody. Tears angered down Cissa's chest and their hands grew sticky with sweat and exertion, but Bellatrix wouldn't relent. She merely squeezed tighter, a personal boa constrictor. Cissa screamed through their blood, trying to pry off fingers, trying to breach the sudden drawbridges, which cut off the raging witch from world. But Bella's demons had come to play their paradox games. Icicles finally snapped — and steadfast — the blonde stabbed at the infernal creatures, pulling her sister out of their clutches. When she finally succeeded, Bellatrix let out awful rage, a bereft scream of utter plague, as the hands were finally forced from her throat. She wanted nothing to do with herself. Damn Cissa for making her stay awake. Fuck Cissy for making her lust. Fuck her fuck her, oh she wanted to _fuck_ her. In crazed fury, mouth attacked the blonde, ravaging every inch of exposed skin. Nothing escaped, not Cissa's face, breasts…lips, nothing.

"I told you not to start fires. But we're so pretty to burn." Even in arrogant apology, lips were bruising, Bella's body fuming.

_[Tears fell from emerald eyes, uncomprehending, and watched Bellatrix come undone. And Minerva wondered how the entire world had missed the slow destruction of this witch. How she had missed it. And how possibly in the world the formidable blonde had kept it hidden all these years.]_

Narcissa whimpered pleasure and clawed against her sister's tortured attentions. Their blood crucified Bella's confliction upon them both. Guilty hands and apologetic nails roped them together, painfully. Blood thrived and minds hurt, but Cissa approached the dark. Perhaps it was the heritage, perhaps Bella's influence. But the blonde understood the appeal of imploding verism. She clung to her sister, to the paintbrush mouth that rendered soul upon them. The window seat was small enough that Bella's resumed force had backed Cissa up against the other wall — blue skirts had slid up to the apex of slim hips. Bellatrix once again straddled her sister, black dress gathering about her waist. Without ceremony, Bellatrix thrust onto the exposed leg, gasping as thigh grazed her core. Narcissa gasped all things known and not. And though fiercely she bit Cissa's neck, brokenly, Bella whispered…pleading for home and forgiveness.

"Take him away, p-please, take him away. Spells didn't fix and I feel him, feel him in me still." The whispers were sanguine and sane, more frightening than the madness. "Cissa, take me. Take me, _take_ me." Bellatrix rasped into a vermillion ear and bucked harshly against the found hardness. Clothed and hips rolling, there was something so quintessentially Bella about it, like a song refusing refrain or canyon walls housing precarious libraries.

Narcissa fell to her sister's furious desire, sounding a short moan at the slickness that slid up and down (at least now understanding what it was good for). Her hands trembled on Bella's hips, unsure which of them she was supporting. Unsure if this course was best for the obviously victimized witch. Somewhere down deep, brain recited rudimentary sexual education. But in the current rapture, all Cissa could see was Bellatrix in exposure, roughness the best of shelters, and her own desire to fortify the witch, anyway possible. In the end, she decided Bellatrix was more than competent to make decisions. It wasn't Cissa's job to curtail, merely support. The dark witch wasn't gentle. She reared and growled, enraged and howled. She arched, head thrown back, riding thigh lividly. The witch was a Black hole and absorbed all things. She spat them back out, pitted and desecrated. Bella needed more hate, more pain…anything else to fill the void that tittered with taboo pleasures. She commanded her sister.

"Hit me." The silky voice soldered danger.

Narcissa's breath froze, unclear on the entire exchange, unclear on recourse and off-road excursions. She could only shake her head and hug the woman against her, burrowing between Bella's breasts, searching for stability. The witch combed through yellow tresses, calming the chit, despite the hurricane she crafted. This hadn't been plan. But it executed. Bellatrix moaned, rocking clit against her Cissa. Her hand dug into a naked waist. She wanted those curves. Self-deprecation wasn't enough; she wanted the sting of hit upon her. A hand managed to tip Cissa's chin upward. Lips dipped and anguished on pink.

"D-do it." Bella's breath bated and brogued. "I brought this monster to us, this sickness, this darkness, this thickness. H-hate me. Hit me." Bellatrix gritted this out, between bared teeth and hard thrusts, head bowed.

Cissa was at a loss.

"I don't hate you, I lov—"

"I'm just like _him_. Now punish me." Bella whispered furiously, hips canting anyway.

At last, Narcissa finally understood Bella's demon. Sinister imploration sang to veins: _I'm the frost killing hour, hit me that much harder. _Blues pleaded their bond, even as Bellatrix thieved Cissa's mind, pulling at it._ 'Oh god, Bella, not like this, not like this.' _Ignoring Cissa's refusal, a dreaded Unforgivable fell from the witch's mouth. She would have her sister's hand, one way or the other. It was the other.

"_Imperio_."

**SLAP. **Bellatrix let out a soulless caterwaul as Cissa's hand connected with jaw. Pain enveloped her sweetly, filling her holes. She cackled. Narcissa's hand stung red as did her tears. The kiss was depreciation and poured into Cissa's mouth. Together they tasted its bitterness and never wanted coffee again. This was Cygnus' fault.

_Take my mouth, save your breath  
>Kiss me now, catch my death<br>Oh, I mean this_

Cissa was furiously hoarse as her hands gripped Bella's wrists.

"He can't have you." She hissed. "I will'na let him."

Stress stuttered against the thriving blood, scarlet as the arousal that painted her thigh. Bella's lips found hers again, shaking an aching and unspoken sentiment. Perhaps the worst had passed, but more likely Bella had managed to cart demons back to the brig. Either way, hips apologized, switching from rabid thrusts to seductive rolling-pin grind. Soft. Solid. Wet. Tumbling souls or not, Cissa whispered their vandalism.

"You feel g-good." She whimpered at Bella's ministrations. It was like nothing she'd ever felt before, this dripping heat upon her. Narcissa had no idea if their motion was customary, having never ventured her own body. Let alone another person's. She did know that she never wanted it to stop, normal or not.

Bellatrix buried her face in Cissy's neck, hips rocking wanton against her witch. The blonde felt salt on her neck, coastal moans. Contrasting strangely with fervid thrusts, Bella's arms wrapped underneath and over shoulders, finding gentle anchor. As her mouth hit a particularly sensitive spot, Cissa groaned, fingers swallowed by curls. Bellatrix latched onto her pulse and made quick Jell-O of limbs. Teeth shimmered. Rhythms chanted.

"Need you." Cissa whispered, afraid of the sentiment. "Please, Bellatrix." She wanted to see her face. Needed to know it was her dark goddess that bucked against.

Understanding, the mouth on her neck released, as did a hand from her back. It rose up to Narcissa's face, shaking like dark eyes. Curls fell over their faces; their own private room, where noses touched and lips trembled breath. They gave up to the wild. Cissa didn't even try for control — this was Bella's own making, her therapy. Eyes pooled upon each other, frantic blacks finally relenting in the blue. They softened and lost some of their horror. And the pace changed. Bellatrix moved achingly slow and took the time to caress the blonde's face, arms…clavicle. She kissed eyelids, cheeks. Stroked intimacy on jaw. _This_ the bigger step…not the hips. Narcissa sighed at the gentle, the heat that melded in blood. Without warning, Bellatrix sped up feverishly…unrelenting. Only to slow the sprint back to tantalizing stroll. They cycled like this, between the soft and the furious, and danced in the dark. Bellatrix cradled the witch's neck, lips and tongue exploring Cissa's mouth as only a lover could. At some point the cycle ceased and stuck to furious. Narcissa stared, wide-eyed at the beauty in Bella's tremors, the black lace on sweat. Amongst the wetness, a small hardness rasped against Narcissa's bare thigh. She gasped in confusion, but clear in desire. Bellatrix growled her delight and pulled Cissa in for a lusty kiss. It wasn't soft, but it wasn't the panicking bruise of before. (But at least the younger witch had an answer: wetness was good. Very fucking good.)

The witch began her climb and whimpered into Cissa's mouth as clit hardened. The blonde was supernova at this new vulnerability from Bellatrix. A hand fell from dark curls and trembled down to rolling hips, entranced by the waves. Narcissa was enthralled. She had only heard whispers from the other girls in her year, the ones who ran in the fast crowd at Hogwarts. She knew that _something_ was supposed to happen. And whatever it was, it was clear that Bellatrix was approaching it…and fast.

"C-c-cissa…please," Bellatrix whispered against her mouth in violent trembles. "P-please t-take me home. I wanna go home with you. "

She didn't have much in her arsenal, but she had love. Narcissa pulled her into a sweet kiss, lips brushing ardor and anchor. Their bloodbond reiterated and Bella fell apart. Hard. Fast. Good. Sweat beaded her brow and she screamed throatily against Cissa's jaw. Thighs clenched and spasms pushed ecstasy through her. A rush of heat spilled on the blonde's leg. In the canting night, the witch rode the sun away from the dark. Bellatrix breathily keened Cissa's name as she burned and burst, bathed in streaming rays. She hung there and the world suspended for blissful and eternal seconds, her own name forgotten in lieu of solar exchanges. All this, Narcissa watched with ingénue wonderment. Her blood pulsed happily; sunshine as she shared strong hints of Bella's pleasure. Fiercely, Bellatrix pulled the girl into her arms and held her, as the last of her trembles subsided and Cissa's began. They remained like that — Bellatrix slick and heated, still atop Cissa…and the topless girl embraced solidly in her arms. Erratic breath hitched and moaned as she came down from her peak. Still breathless, Bella's kiss seared Narcissa and broke all emotions down. Over and over, Bella's lips scorched hers. Blood searched…finding completion in the whole of each other. They would never need anything else.

"Cissa, my Cissa." Bellatrix murmured against gold, basking in and protecting her light. He was gone — suns had chased the boogieman away. For now.

Narcissa trembled and buried herself in sweaty curls, savoring their magical scent, savoring her sister. Their rendezvous had been furious, frantic…gentle. Nerve endings exposed to the air and synapses fired her startlingly alert. She didn't know how to be held without shaking.

_'__No, I'm not aware of how I could possibly love you without aching.'_

Bellatrix's lips sought to sooth her fragile sister. The woman's hand gripped at her disheveled skirts, but the other pulled Bella's hand to inner thigh. The darker witch moaned at the found softness…the quakes. The girl fell into her mouth in whimpers, in solace, in—

_'__Oh Cissa.'_

Desire. Bellatrix had vainly hoped that their earlier non-intrusive exploration would have satisfied the girl. After all, the witch knew her sister was still innocent in this sense…and doubted Cissy had ever found relief at the touch of her own hand (or fully understood what they'd just done). Bella's culmination had shimmered through their bloodbond. For a moment, she regretted her conscience, as body and mind urged her to claim the witch. They both wanted it desperately, but Bella knew better…especially as Cissy didn't yet comprehend what she asked for. Responsibility called, but she knew it would pain the girl, this lack of return. However the girl perceived the exchange.

"Narcissa." She kissed a sweaty brow, trying to soften the blow. "It's better, safer if I don't. Oh darling, they will check on your wedding night…they will know." The practice was archaic. And while Bellatrix wasn't afraid of sullying her own reputation, she wouldn't sacrifice her sister's. If they began, Bella didn't trust herself to stick to outercourse. No, Bellatrix wasn't a half-ass kind of a witch. When she took her sister, she would mean to take it all. This had just been a…necessary and selfish detour.

Cissa's face flamed as Bella read her thoughts, catching them easily.

"You are untouched, love, and must remain so. It's too soon and dangerous." Bella's lips brushed hers in sincerity. "I'll not have your future stolen, for the impatient likes of myself."

But Cissa's eyes slid away from Bella as she hurt to crumbles inside. Suns flickered and she huddled herself into the dark of her sister. _'I need this lullaby, this love of mine. Oh, I need this.'_ The loss of sun was almost tangible. Frantic, Bellatrix prompted her chin back.

"Please, Cissa," the witch rasped. "It's not because I don't wan— now would we _really_ be in this position if I didn't?" A sip of sarcasm poked through, as hands gently caressed thighs, praying for the hint of a spark…any understanding.

Bellatrix wanted nothing more than to indulge the pink lips that brushed want against her. Wanted nothing more than to take trembles and force them into quaking skies. Their blood nuzzled, as did a nose upon her neck; it was too much. Narcissa suddenly clung to her again, rasping teeth over pulse. The motion jerked Bella's hips. Still wet, she ground and found strangled gasp. Bella's blood piqued and renewed arousal — she shut it down quickly, knowing this was manipulation, trying to assert lust over rationale. She shoved the monster under the bed for now. Bellatrix forced her hips still, hating the bereavement of heat. Firmly, a tender hand removed Cissa from her neck as the girl keened her own loss. An angry kiss was Bella's admonishing and hissed answer.

"Don't you _dare_ use sex for manipulation."

"Why not," Narcissa shot back, still hurt. "YOU do."

Reminding herself that she was dealing with a hurting and hunkered soul, Bellatrix tempered her blood and kept the witch to her. Gritting teeth, she managed a stilted if pleasing tone.

"Have a wee something on your mind then, do we now? I could have a Galleon for your thoughts…"

At the childhood phrase, Cissa smiled thinly, despite the situation. Bellatrix dug at her thoughts, and per usual, words popped out before the blonde could sojourn them.

"I want it to be _you_, not Lucius that takes me," she cried out angrily.

Black eyes widened, hungry and craving. Bellatrix demounted and swung off her straddled position, opting to stand instead. On the bench, she drew Cissa to her knees, pulling the girl against her length, half-bared and beautiful. The witch marveled at the smooth back under her hands, the golden hair settled against her chest. Growling mouth ducked down and tilted a chin up, capturing ruddy lips. Hands grasped the contours of the blonde's face harshly…gently. And black mouth appreciated the sentiment, burning it into mind. They kissed heatedly and Bella's curls fell down Cissa's moon-slung back.

_[Minerva watched the two cling to each other — a damaged beauty she understood better than she wished. But she knew they loved. In the night, they were a condemned yin-yang underneath window, sparkled with grey moonlight.]_

The blonde appreciated Bella's tangled skirts before snaking arms around corset. She sighed as that tongue teased her weak and juddered her insides. Sharp teeth lusted down her jaw line, composing contract. Bella tugged hair and a racy promise sounded in ear.

"And you can be sure, Cissa-mine, that when the time does come, it'll be I doing the taking. Not he."

A furious kiss dominated and the moors rolled merry in the night.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note II:<strong> R & R, lovelies. I must credit the lovely _Zarrene Moss_ for the originating concept of my "They gave up to the wild" line. She's phenomenal and you should read her ongoing saga, _Glass Silence_. (Credits apply for both Parts I & II of this scene - I was in no mood to untangle which went to which.)

**Translation:  
><strong>- _Ingénue_ (French) – Noun from adj. _ingénu_, meaning ingenuous, innocent, and virtuous. Girl or young woman who is endearingly innocent and wholesome, and typically beautiful, gentle, naïve, and virginal.  
><em>- Soleil<em>, _ma lumi__è__re_ (French) – Literally, "Sun, my light."

(Credits: _Alice Cooper_ – Poison, _A New Found Glory_ – It's Not Your Fault, _Collective Soul_ – Blame, _Damien Rice_ – 9 Crimes, _Disturbed_ – Down With the Sickness, _Dylan Thomas_ – Do not go gentle into that good night, _Fiona Apple_ – Criminal, _Hozier_ – Take me to Church, _Imogen Heap_ – Glittering Cloud, _Jason Mraz_ – The Remedy, _J. K. Rowling_ – Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, _Kanye West_ – Monster, _Lady GaGa_ – Marry the Night, _Matchbox Twenty_ – Busted and Disease, _Moulin Rouge_ – Hindi Sad Diamonds, _Muse_ – Undisclosed Desires, _Natalie Merchant_ – My Skin, _Plumb_ – Cut, _Rihanna_ – S&M, _Tegan and Sara_ – Clever Meals, Superstar, This is Everything, _Wicked the Musical_ – Defying Gravity, misc.)


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